Break The Skies
by Arudon
Summary: He remembered nothing. He felt nothing. He knew nothing. These are the three things that the angel can be sure of when he finally breaks out of heaven and descends to Earth, looking for a vessel. With wings as gray as a cloudy sky, he finds young Harry Potter, broken and battered and shoved in a closet, and asks permission to enter. Angel!Harry, Rewrite of Heaven's Child. Enjoy!
1. Heaven

**For all those who are coming here because you want to read the new and improved version of Heaven's child, welcome back. To those who are just joining, welcome newcomer. I'm going to start off by saying that I'm sorry I had to do this, but I could not write anymore in the original. It was just too cluttered. So, I am reworking the whole concept, and I think you'll enjoy the results. **

**I do not own Supernatural or Harry Potter. Nor do I own Heaven, Hell, or Earth, but I do own the green-eyed angel.**

**Alright, here we go:**

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><p>If there's one thing that I have learned over my many travels, it is that there are many things in this universe that must never be spoken of. There are stories that must never be read, books that must never see the light of day, knowledge that must never be known.<p>

Likewise, there are many things that are not meant to be hidden. There are things that no matter how hard you try to hide them, they keep coming back.

This is one of those stories. And this story is about an angel. An angel who would learn that anything is possible, and would eventually learn that a little courage…

Is all it takes to **Break the Skies**.

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><p>When most people envision Heaven, they think of pure white hallways and shining gardens, where celestial beings sit around all day playing harps.<p>

Others think of it as a pearly white city, lost in the clouds and littered with pillars and columns made of white marble.

This is not the case at all.

Heaven, in its most basic form, is like a limitless vault. Imagine going along a hallway that stretches on forever, and on either side are doors that lead to people's personal heavens. Millions upon millions upon millions of people, from all the eras, living out their greatest fantasies and being at peace.

However, if you continue walking for long enough, you could reach the angel quarters. The Barracks. There, the walkway ends, and you will see a grand square, where all the angels can gather if called. Before you would stand the main temple, where Michael and Raphael sat as the seat of heaven's power, their father long gone. All around would be angels, going about in their true forms and performing their divine tasks, all the while singing praises to their father.

However, below that main quarter there are the dungeons, filled with angels that have disobeyed or failed in their duties. These are the worst parts of heaven, where no light can shine.

It is there, deep in the dungeons of Heaven, that we find the beginning of our story.

Locked away in a small room, behind a door made of solid flat iron, sat a crystal. To anyone viewing it, they would immediately be taken aback by its size. It was easily thirty feet tall, and was glowing a soft white shine that made it look like ice. The crystal, however, was not transparent, so no one who had even made it this far had ever even known what lay inside the thing.

They should have at least tried to find out.

A sharp, clear note rang out around the room, resonating from within the crystal. The noise was repeated again as something banged on the inside of the crystal, louder this time. Hairline fractures spread out across the crystal's surface, spiderwebbing down over the entire front as whatever it was demanded to be let out. A scrabbling could be heard from inside the crystal, as if multiple claws were scratching along the surface in an effort to escape.

Finally, with an all out push, the crystal broke, and a strange creature spilled out onto the floor.

It was an angel, the likes of which few had ever seen before.

It was small, for an angel, reaching only thirty feet long with a relatively thin body. Its form was in the shape of a dragon, but adorning its head was a pale, blank face. Two shining, green-green eyes stared out from the face, and on either side of it, facing to the right and to the left, sat two more faces, this time in the form of animal heads. On the right hand side was what looked like a Hawk, and on the other side was a bear. Its long, sinewy tail was covered in fine, gray hair at the end, and on its back rested about a dozen wings, all branching out from two primaries. Going all the way down his spine were sharp, iridescent spikes that looked as if they were forged straight from the crystal that had entombed him.

The wings were strange. Instead of being bright and colorful like most other angels' wings, these were gray. Not in the sense that that was their color, but rather, they were the kind of gray that denoted and _absence_ of color, instead of the other way around.

They flexed experimentally behind the angel as he gripped the ground beneath him, finally being able to feel after thousands of years entombed inside the crystal. He had been afraid that he would go insane, just sitting there waiting for something to happen to him.

Stretching his body, he felt his corporeal form pop and hiss after a millennia of inactivity. Reaching a paw up, he slid a long, sharp nail over his faces, dragging minute parts of the crystal off of his skin and cleansing it of the suppressing residue. The crystal had had the passive affect of making his grace useless, which is why it had taken so long to break it: he had only been able to use physical strength.

But that was done now, and finally he could get on with more pressing business: making good on his escape. His bright green eyes fell upon the flat sheet of metal before him. There was no way he would be able to open that physically, but if he used his power...

Sliding over to the door, he extended a small amount of grace into the latticework and, with his mind, gave a small _push…_

And voila! The door slid open without a sound.

The angel now paused, its great, ponderous head swinging back and forth as it looked up and down the corridor, trying to decide which way to go. The angel had a feeling that he should go left, even though there was nothing to indicate a difference. So, with aching slowness that only comes after years of endlessly waiting for something to happen, the angel moved its draconic form down the hallway, its soft, gray and white scales sliding smoothly along the ground as it walked. A gray mist began to float off of it in waves, its grace finally able to pour out and surround him. It would be a while before it attained its natural, white hue, and until that time he would have to make do with the gray.

Sure enough, after a while the angel came to another door, this one much more intricate than the last one. Sending his newly freed grace into the door, he was shocked when he felt his power rebound, unable to open the lock on the door. If it could blink, it would have. Sitting back on its haunches, the angel puzzled over the door, trying to discern why it would not open before finally...it hit him.

_This was a prison._ If an angel actually managed to get out of its cell, then why should there be any way for an angel (such as himself) to get any farther than the guard door? Pushing his grace against the door once more, the angel recoiled as he felt the sting of repulsion once again smack into him. Snorting loudly, the angel shifted his twelve wings in befuddlement, trying to divine a way around the obstacle.

After a considerable amount of time had passed, the angel finally decided that it would simply have to wait until someone came along and opened the door. He had waited thousands of years for his freedom, he could wait a while more.

Shifting into the shadows, the angel waited for an indefinite amount of time. It could have been a few minutes, it could have been years. He had no way of telling.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the door scraped open with the sound of thousands of pounds of metal sliding roughly along stone. Green eyes narrowed as he watched another fellow angel step through the open doorway. He was larger than the green eyed angel, at around fifty feet tall with the body that looked to be part lion and part ox, with three heads adorning his neck. Six gorgeous multicolored wings covered his back, and he strode forward with a sense of pride.

However, the green eyed angel could tell from the angel's halo that he was not as high ranking as he. He was just an ordinary angel, while the green-eyed angel himself was just a little higher than an ophanim, one of the wheels of heaven and obviously powerful. Still, the angel remained in the shadows, sliding his tail forward to hold the door as the other angel swept by him, not even pausing to look into the shadows. Smirking to himself (mentally, of course; he didn't have a mouth) the more draconic angel slid his sinewy body through the doorway, closing it behind him as quietly as possible, locking the poor bastard in. Serves him right for being a terrible guard.

Moving forward, the angel eventually found himself entering a gigantic library of a sorts. All around him swirled other angels of all different ranks, ranging from simple cherubs to high ranking powers, all busily moving about and searching through tomes and scrolls. The angel's gray wings shifted in awe, his tail wagging slightly as he stared up at the nearly endless shelves of books.

Something told him that a long time ago, before he had been imprisoned in the crystal, he had loved to read.

He couldn't remember much though. The crystal had robbed him of his memories. Most of everything he had known had been stripped away, even his own name. All that remained was small impressions of his likes and dislikes, and his rudimentary knowledge of heaven and Enochian.

His green eyes caught the gaze of a power that was flying four levels above him, and the angel turned to fully face him, before rumbling a challenge. Descending from his place, he landed before the draconic angel with a snarl. His form was much more humanoid than the gray scaled angel, and, like most other angels, he was larger. Eighteen wings sprouted from his back, the six primaries flaring a green golden color. On his neck rested seven faces: an ox, a lion, an eagle, a badger, a snake, a zebra, and finally a wolf, which was the one facing the green-eyed angel. "_Who are you?!_" he yelled, his harsh voice causing the other angel to shrink back in defense. "_How dare you look me in the eye, worm! What kind of wings are those?! ANSWER ME!_" he cried, obviously enraged.

The green eyed angel had no idea what he had done to make the other so angry, but he wasn't staying to find out. "_So sorry, but I must go!_" he said quickly, before snapping his wings up and flying past the power with all the haste his still stiff wings could muster. He heard the power give a cry of rage and begin to give chase, but he was nowhere near as fast as the green eyed dragon, and before he could even build up any speed, the angel was already out of the library and soaring through heaven's skies, the clouds parting around him as he finally felt the sun on his long neglected wings.

Looking down, he could see thousands of angels milling about, all doing God's work. He felt a small ping of jealousy bounce around inside of him as he saw this, and he paused in his flight to ponder this. Why did he feel this?

Oh…

Here he was, a useless, nameless angel, sitting above heaven and looking down on angels all working and moving. They had purposes. They had goals. He did not.

Ergo…

He did not belong here.

Descending from the clouds, the draconic angel came in for a soft landing on the courtyard square, his wings folding up neatly behind him. Striding over to the center of the courtyard, he poured out a little bit of his grace into the seal in the middle of the crest on the ground.

Angels all around him paused in their work to look at him with curious looks. What was he doing? What was that strange light?

The gray winged angel ignored them as he continued to pour power into the small circle, until it was glowing pure white. His grace by now had shaken most of the metaphorical dust off, and he could feel his old power surging back to him as an almost limitless supply of energy fueled the growing portal.

Finally, the crest fell away to reveal a hole in the floor: the only way an angel can descend to Earth without falling.

He could hear the patter of feet as angels surged forward to try to stop him, but they were far too late. Pushing himself forward, he slipped his head through the portal, the rest of his body soon following. He felt a pair of teeth close around his tail, and with a snort of annoyance he kicked his rear legs out, one of his paws connecting with something solid, and suddenly the teeth were releasing him, and he was sliding through the portal.

And then was falling.

Free falling.

The wind whistled past his ear as his celestial form began to glow white with power. He had to find a vessel soon, he stood out too much like this. Sending out a ping on his angel radar, he eventually felt a returning call coming from a space up ahead. Beating his wings heavily, he set off towards his destination, leaving heaven and all its wonders behind in favor of a new life; one that he could call his own. And maybe, hopefully, he could remember who he was.

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><p>Harry cried out as his Uncle's fist slammed down into his face for the third time, knocking him off his feet and sending him slamming into the wall. "You ungrateful Freak!" his Uncle snarled, aiming a kick to his solar plexes as his beady black eyes narrowed in fury. "We take you in, out of the goodness of our hearts, and this is how you repay us!"<p>

He aimed another kick at Harry again, hitting the ten year old in the kidney and causing him to whimper in pain as tears rolled down his face. Vernon snorted at the pathetic mess that lay before him, before the beefy man bent down and grabbed Harry by the hair and hauled him to his feet. Harry didn't even try to resist, only put his hands on top of Vernon's to try to alleviate some of the tugging pain that he was causing.

Yanking the cupboard door open, Vernon chucked the broken and bleeding boy into the dark cell-like space before slamming the door. Leaning down, he whispered through the grate, his mustache wobbling on his face like a great fat caterpillar. "When I say clean the dishes, I don't mean break them. The next time you even think of trying to pull a stunt like that again, I guarantee you there will be no more need to put you in here."

No, instead Harry would have a nice little grave beneath the lilies in their backyard. Or dumped off a bridge somewhere miles away. The end result would be the same.

The almost-eleven year old cowered as his Uncle walked away, his great rolling footsteps booming on the carpeted floor in ways that should not be possible. It had been Dudley's fault that he had broken the plate, the fat boy had tripped him intentionally! But of course, saying that had only made Uncle Vernon hit him even harder, all the while mumbling curses against the boy for soiling his son's name.

And now here he lay, bleeding and broken on a cot in the darkness. Helpless. Alone.

Oh God, he was so alone.

The green eyed boy curled up into a ball, his hands wrapped around his sternum as his bruises continued to pound pain into his flesh. He let out a sob, unable to believe the amount of pain he was in. He should have known that Uncle wouldn't care. He was just a Freak after all.

Suddenly, Harry felt a hot cold feeling sweep over him, and a sharp *ping* bounced around in his head, before the sound faded. Harry gasped as the feeling passed over him, and an answering shudder seemed to leave his body, radiating away from him in all directions. Moving into a sitting position, Harry wrapped his grimy and bloody sheets around his small body, waiting for something to happen.

He waited,

and waited,

and waited...

He sat like that for hours on end, not daring to fall down asleep in case the surge happened again. He had never felt anything like that before, and he wanted to make sure it was not an illusion.

Suddenly, Harry became aware that a light was shining from above, illuminating the area around him. He gasped and looked up, before immediately raising his hands to his face to shield his eyes. "_Hello, little one,_" he heard an otherworldly voice say, and Harry gasped again, coiling in tighter to his own body as pain once again wracked his form. "Who are you?!" he asked, his voice quivering in fright. A moment passed, before the voice replied, "_Fear not, little one. I am an angel of the lord, and I mean you no harm._"

The angel truly meant it. He had no intention of harming this small boy. He hated to use one so young, but after flying around the world a few times, he was sorry to report that this was the only one he could find that could host him.

"An angel?" Harry gasped, lowering his hand to gaze in wonder at the ethereal light. The angel retreated slightly, making sure that the boy didn't get even a glimpse of his true form. "_Yes child. I have come for you,_" he said. Harry's mouth opened wide as shock welled up inside of him as hope began to rekindle. "You mean, you'll take me away from here! Away from them?!" he cried, pointing out the cupboard door to indicate the Dursleys. He felt more than saw the angel nod, and then the celestial voice was back and whispering to him.

"_If that is your wish. But first, there is something I must ask of you,_" the angel said, its deep, resonant voice echoing into the boy's head. Harry cocked his head to the side in confusion. "What is it?" he asked.

"_I need you to allow me to enter you. You are my chosen vessel, and the only one on Earth who can house my grace," _the angel said grandly, the sweep of wings sending wind rustling across Harry's face as his mouth opened even wider in shock. "M…me!? But I'm nothing! I'm a Freak! I'm not worthy of anyone, especially an angel!" he cried.

Suddenly, the light grew more intense as trails of smoke suddenly wrapped around his form, embracing him in a warm hold. "_That could not be farther from the truth!_" the angel rumbled, sending shivers down Harry's spine. "_You are not worthless, and you are not a Freak. You are one of my Father's creations, worthy and forever deserving of my love and praise._"

Harry was positively trembling, tears beading on his eyes as he felt the praise pass over him. That was the nicest thing anyone's ever said to him. Looking up again at the light, he let a small smile crawl onto onto his face. "What do want me to do?" he whispered, bunching the blankets up between his fingers in anticipation. He felt the angel chuckle lightly, before a small breeze swept through his hair, as if the celestial had just ruffled his chair. "_All I ask of you, little one, is permission to enter your body. Think carefully before doing this, for the consequences are grea-_" "Yes." Harry said, cutting the angel off before he was even done with his explanation.

He felt the angel huff, and a rustling was heard, as if the angel were sitting up and glaring at him with disapproval. "_Foolish boy! Do you not even have any thought for your own safety! I have just asked you to sacrifice your free will for mine, and you say yes without a second thought! Surely it is not sheer righteousness that is steering your course, is it?_" he asked, concern lacing his voice.

Harry cowered under the angel's admonishments, his whole form screaming of meekness and submission. "Nothing would make me happier than to see the end of this life," he finally said, opening his eyes again and raising his head back up to the light. "All that living here has brought me is pain and misery. I don't care what I have to do to get rid of that. If what you offer is salvation, then I gladly accept with all my heart. You have my permission, angel."

He felt another breath of air on his face, as if a great dragon were breathing down on him. "_Are you sure. Should we proceed, you will not have any say in what I do. You will be asleep in your own body, and this may be the last time you ever have free will of your own. Are you positive you want this?_" he asked. Harry nodded emphatically.

"If it means an end to this sorry excuse for a life, then I'll take it. Enter me," he said.

The angel cocked his head, and Harry felt those eyes scrutinizing him once again. "_Very well then._"

Suddenly, Harry's mouth was gently opened by two tendrils of light, and a bright blue smoke was pouring into him through his mouth. Harry felt it sliding down his throat and wrapping around his heart, and an incredible heat began to surge through his body. The last thing he did before falling into the peaceful embrace of slumber would forever haunt the angel now possessing him:

He smiled.

He, Harry James Potter, smiled, before falling into the sleep that is only known by those who have the pleasure of hosting an angel. He felt like he was being chained to a comet, a celestial wave of intent, a divine storm that could blow an entire city over if he should so choose.

The green eyed angel closed the vessel's mouth, and then all was quiet.

All was calm.

All was peaceful.

All was soft.

His dark gray wings sprouted from his back, only two of his many wings managing to manifest. But that didn't matter. The other wings were of little importance: they were for fighting only, after all. The angel took in a deep breath, before releasing it slowly, testing his brand new lungs. He couldn't even remember if he'd ever had a vessel before, and he was absolutely positive he had never had one so young.

He was being bombarded by all sorts of sensations that were completely alien to him, the most important being the many discolorations on his skin. Pressing his grace against his vessel's surface, he felt the swollen skin cells immediately shrink, and the angry red marks disappeared back into the pale alabaster coloration that did not seem natural for a young child.

The angel rolled his head around, relishing the feeling of sensation: the feel of cloth sliding across skin, the feel of his fingers (_FINGERS! OH FATHER THIS IS AMAZING!_) sliding through his hair. The feel of his nails as he slid them over his highly sensitized skin. The feeling of his wings resting behind him, the feathers brushing the sides of the walls, quivering with wonderful, glorious _feeling!_

Pushing himself up, he tried to stand fully erect, but immediately hit his head on the low hanging ceiling. Turning his eyes up in curiosity, he stared in wonder at the wood above him. The last time he had seen the state of evolution men and women were in, he recalled that they had been running around with stone tools and furs. He remembered feeling apprehensive about…something. He tried to grab onto the remembered feeling, but nothing was coming back. Every time he tried to grasp at the memory, it slipped away from him. He only remembered the sheer nervousness that…something would happen. What? What did that even mean.

Anyway, it was clear that man had come a long way since then. But how far? Obviously they had eaten the forbidden fruit, but how much exactly had changed since he was put to sleep?

With a flutter of wings, he was standing outside the door of the cupboard, looking around with curiosity. The angel marveled at the plaster walls and carpeted floor. Drawing in a breath through his nose, he felt his mind reeling with the sheer _sensation_ of smell on the human level. Truly, someone had messed up when they said it was forbidden to partake in the pleasures of the flesh. _This was amazing!_

Shifting his legs, he took his first step forward, wobbling uncertainly (although admittedly from a third person view the wobble was so minute it was little more than a shiver). Elation ran through his body, but his face remained expressionless, the angel unused to having features. There was no expression when your face was just a blank slate with two eyes.

Very quickly the angel was walking around, his bright green be-spectacled eyes taking in everything around him. He stared in reverence at the electronic clock on the wall, sheer wonder filling his gaze.

He stood there watching the clock as it changed, his fascination piqued now more than ever. Holding still as a statue, barely even drawing breath, he used his superior angel eyesight to peer into the inner workings of the mechanism, tracing every single cable and the route of the power, working faster than any human could possibly hope to, divining the meaning behind the technology.

He held that pose for hours, never blinking as he tried to catch up with three thousand years of technology. He didn't even notice the rising of the sun, nor the change of the clock from seven to eight.

Because of this, he missed hearing Harry's Uncle come down the stairs, enter the kitchen, and stop short when he laid eyes on him.

He did notice, however, when the bull of a man roared at him. "What the bloody hell do you think you're doing out!? _Did I not make it clear last night that no FREAKISHNESS WAS TO BE USED IN THIS HOUSE?!"_

The angel turned to the fat man.

He blinked.

"Who are you?" he asked.

Vernon gaped.

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><p><strong>Alright, there we go, completely redone first chapter. I've taken the angels back to their original form: they are not cute. They are not cuddly. They do not have anime eyes. <strong>

**They are cold, immortal beings who do not understand humans, and are nowhere close to doing so. The angel is not Isaac, it is someone completely different. You're going to love it, I promise you. I will have more coming soon, this is just the start.**

**How did you guys like the pure form angel? I think I've refined it, and it turned out fairly well. I'll be editing this later, so please, if you find any typos let me know. **

**Rate and Review- **Arudon

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	2. Stars

**Greetings and salutations. Forgot to mention, this doesn't belong to me. Well, the angel does, and the depiction of heaven..._Kind of...does...?_ (_Hey God? Are you there? It's me Arudon. I hope I haven't made you mad_).**

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><p><strong>Also, people were asking for this, so here it is: the full list of angel rankings (At least according to how the combination of religious and supernatural canon takes it).<strong>

So, angel ranks? Well, you certainly came to the right place. Allow me to explain what they are

First off, let's start at the bottom rung. The simplest of angels are the cherubs (cupids) which are basically messenger angels that fly around hooking important people up. They are hardly important to the main working of heaven, but are the most common types of angel here on Earth.

The next rank up from the cherubs are the regular angels. These are the most common types of angels, and act as the foot soldiers of the heavenly host. They are the also the most varied of angels, with some being only slightly stronger than a cherub to those that have strength rivaling a seraph. Also, among this rank are located many of the classes of heaven, including the Rida Zein (Hands of Mercy, healers) the Rai Zhoda (Divine Wrath, executioners (like Uriel)) and the Siam Dot (Hunters of Grace, angelic bloodhounds (Alcasan)). Castiel in season 4 is at that time nothing more than a simple angel, no more than a foot soldier. That should give you an indication of what kind of power they're on.

Above the regular angels are the virtues, who have quite a lot of power in Heaven. They are responsible for overseeing Earth, and performing random acts of miracles as they see fit.

Next are the seraphs (or seraphim, depending on the level of power). These are the commanders of heaven, the generals, and they usually hand out orders to garrison leaders. A good example of this would be Zachariah.

Above them are the Ophanim, the wheels of heaven. They are responsible for maintaining total control of Heaven's endless supply of grace, and are usually the oldest and wisest of angels. Without them, Heaven would be incapable of functioning.

Even higher on the scale are the powers. These are the attendants and personal guards of the main atrium, where Heaven's throne sits. They are responsible for maintaining order amongst all other ranks, and issue the orders to the virtues and seraphim.

Near the top of the food chain are the archangels. These are the most powerful angels in existence, with capabilities ranging from total dimensional manipulation to incinerating other angels with a simple touch. There are only four of them however, and two are not even in heaven. They are, in order of age, Michael, Lucifer (fallen), Raphael, and Gabriel (dissapeared). These are the first angels to be created by God, and his most cherished children.

Finally, at the very top of the food chain, sits God. He is the father of all the angels, and the only one who can craft them with perfection. All the animals that he made on earth bare resemblance to angels, because God was the one that tested them out on his celestial creations.

My angel is of indeterminate rank, but falls somewhere between a Power and an Ophanim. However, he can remember very little from before his entombment in the crystal, and as such does not know what his purpose in heaven is, which is why he left.

_Hope that clears it up for you guys. Enjoy the chapter!_

**Also, quick note: if you enjoy Doctor who and Sherlock, along with this fandom, then you should definitely check out The Angel of Time on my profile. Trust me, you'll love it.**

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><p>Vernon and the angel stared at each other for a moment, neither of them moving.<p>

The fat man's lips snapped open and closed a few times in shock, before his face began to grow red with anger. "What did you say?" he growled, his face now the color of a tomato. The angel cocked his head to the side in confusion.

Had the human not heard him? Perhaps he should explain himself.

"I asked you what your name is. I'm afraid I'm unfamiliar with human greetings," he said truthfully.

Vernon's eyes widened at the angel's response, and his face, in a remarkable display of the rainbow effect, began to turn purple in fury. "You little FREAK! Stop talking nonsense immediately!" he shouted again.

All the angel did was cock his head to the side again in an almost birdlike manner, his brow furrowing slightly. Was this human particularly thick?

'I know I am inexperienced with human customs, but this is ridiculo- OH! Perhaps he doesn't recognize this vessel is occupied, and he thinks I am human. I should correct him.'

"I am not a freak, sir. I'm an angel of the lord," he said calmly.

Vernon let out a bellow of rage, and surged forward to swing his fist straight into the angel's face.

It was like trying to punch a tank.

A sharp gonging sound rang out around the room, and the angel's head whipped to the side as the fist impacted with his face. Vernon let a squeal of pain and fell to his knees, gripping his throbbing fingers in one hand while his eyes watered.

The angel calmly turned his head back to face the man, his face remaining expressionless as he stared in curiosity.

That was…odd.

Perhaps it is some form of…greeting…?

Raising his hand to his face, he flexed his fingers, experimentally closing them into a fist, and then opening them again slowly. Close, open. Close, open.

Vernon looked up at the angel, his face now white with fear. The angel turned his green eyes onto Vernon, peering through his glasses that had somehow remained perfectly positioned on his face, and swung his own fist upward into Vernon's chin in a fierce uppercut.

Vernon was launched across the room like a human cannonball, his great meaty form landing on the dining room table and breaking it in half.

Vernon let out a scream of pain as he fell to the floor, his rubbery body providing a cushion for him. An echoing cry of terror came from the doorway and, and the angel snapped his head to the side to see Petunia staring at her husband's prone body in shock. Rushing forward, she knelt before Vernon, her hands going everywhere as she attempted to pull him up.

"Oh darling, are you alright? Oh my goodness, what happened here? Are you hurt? Oh darling, please tell me you're alright?!" she babbled, her frail arms tugging ineffectively on Vernon's robust form as the man shakily tried to fend her off. "Bloody woman!" he cried, his high pitched voice echoing around the room.

Vernon finally succeeded in beating off the horse faced woman, and with a huff he rolled off the remains of the table, his eyes wide with shock and open fear as he met the green orbs of the eerily quiet boy. The angel had not moved a muscle since he had struck Vernon, but instead stood silently, his hands by his side and his head cocked slightly in that alien gesture of confusion. "What the bloody hell are you, you Freak?!" Vernon screamed, his face going green with fear.

Okay, so perhaps it wasn't a greeting. I am now one very confused angel. And why does he insist on calling me 'Freak?'

"What, Harry did this?!" came Dudley's voice from the doorway, and all three turned to stare at him.

It suddenly occurred to the angel that he hadn't even gotten to know his vessel's name before he possessed him.

"Harry?" the angel finally asked, glancing down at his own body. "So that was the boy's name…" he murmured, running his eyes over his form before looking back at Vernon. "I apologize for striking you. I was under the impression that it was some form of human greeting. Clearly I was mistaken."

His brow furrowed, trying to decide how to proceed. Perhaps he should correct them again.

"I will repeat myself for a second time. I am not a Freak. I am an angel." He said.

At their dubious looks, the angel's frown deepened. Is all of humanity truly this out of touch with the divine? Back when he was still walking the earth, he could recall whole masses of people flinging themselves at his feet at the mere mention of his proclamation. Had it really been so long since his brothers had visited them?

Perhaps he should provide some form of proof. Clearly these were non-believers, sad as that made him.

Flashes of light suddenly lit up the room, and the Dursleys all stared in shock as the silhouettes of the angel's massive gray wings were cast on the walls behind him as he spread them out gracefully, relishing the feeling of having them taste the air again. For the briefest moment his halo was visible as well, a small ring of grayish white light laced with thousands of Enochian symbols, before it too vanished as the light faded.

Vernon's mouth opened and closed like a codfish, before he grabbed Petunia and drew her down, his eyes never leaving those of pure green. "Grab Dudley and the keys. We're leaving," he whispered. Nodding, Petunia got up and grabbed Dudley, taking him upstairs to grab the essentials (read: a few pairs of clothes and half his toys.)

The angel watched passively as the fat man got up from his seat on the floor and stumbled over to the doorway. Reaching up above the sill, Vernon pulled down a rifle that had been concealed there, along with a single round.

Loading as fast as he could, he cocked the weapon and pointed it at the angel, his beady eyes narrowing as the celestial turned to fully face him.

"Right, you stay back, or I'm warning you, I'll shoot."

The angel cocked his head to the side, before narrowing his eyes. "I assure you sir, that is entirely unnecessary. I mean you and your family no harm."

Why did they react this way? Shouldn't they rejoice at having one of his race grace them with his presence?

He took a step forward, his hand outstretched as if to pacify the man, and Vernon's pulse quickened. He panicked, and in his haste he squeezed the trigger, firing a round of lead buckshot straight into the boy's body.

The angel wasn't even staggered.

The celestial barely even felt the bullet enter his body, the mortal weapon having even less of an effect than a salt round would. He looked down at the hole in his shirt, small smatterings of blood present but far, far less than there should have been if he were human. Looking back up, the angel locked gazes with the man again, his head cocking to the side in confusion. Vernon's skin turned whiter than a vampire, and, dropping the gun, he fled the room.

The angel could hear him grab the woman and the fat boy before hauling them downstairs, the boy's shrill complaints causing a strange pain to bounce around in his ears. He heard the front door open and shut, before the sound of a car starting reached his sensitive ears.

* * *

><p>Vernon hurled his son into the back seat, the boy screaming and causing a fuss, but contrary to his normal spoiling nature, he didn't care to indulge the boy. Petunia was already in the car, her eyes wide with shock, and Vernon started the car with a gusto, the tires squealing as he pulled out of the driveway too fast.<p>

The last he saw of the house was the boy staring at him from the front window, his green eyes just looking at him in curiosity while the red hole in his shirt from where the bullet had hit him winked at Vernon mockingly. With a final curse, Vernon swerved away from the house and tore off down the road, determined not to return until a week had passed.

* * *

><p>The angel blinked in confusion as he watched the car pull away from him, his eyes tracking the black metal vehicle until it vanished around the corner. What had he done wrong? Apart from striking Vernon, he had been nothing but polite, and had even showed them his wings as a sign of trust. "I don't understand…" he mumbled, before turning away from the window.<p>

His eyes wandered around the room he was in. So far he had only seen the inside of the cupboard and the kitchen, and brief glances into the living room. Taking hesitant steps forward, the angel continued to walk around the front entrance, his wings spreading out in the more open space. Reaching forward, he slid his hand along a wall as he passed from the foyer to the dining room, relishing the feeling of plaster beneath his sensitive fingers. A small smile spread out across his face, the action used purely from muscle memory as the angel had no conscious knowledge of ever smiling.

Sometimes it was just a detriment to not have a mouth in your true form.

To be fair, there were a lot of things he loved about his true form. His scales, for one, were incredibly soft, and he truly enjoyed the utilization of his tail, even if it didn't manifest in his human form (he missed that).

But there were some things that could have been improved. Having features on his primary face was one of them. It felt so strange to be unconsciously emoting when he had never done it before.

Even though to anyone else it would look like he held his face still the entire time and rarely used it, every facial change the angel performed was as monumental to him as jumping fifty feet in the air or pushing a mountain was to an ordinary person. It felt so strange, yet so amazing at the same time.

Imagine that: being thankful for a face!

Looking around, the angel admired the decorations the Dursleys had put in place around the dining room, the wallpaper a nice soothing flower pattern that was predictable and seamless. The beautiful mahogany table was polished to a pristine shine, and the angel paused as he saw his own form in the reflection.

Raising his hand to his face, he traced his fingers over the contours of his features, running delicate pads over his lips and across his nose, watching in amazement as his reflection mirrored him. His fingers traced the edges of his glasses, marveling at the feeling of metal beneath his sensory digits. 'What purpose do these serve?' he thought, admiring the way his glasses reflected the sunlight.

Truly, humans were amazing creatures.

Sliding his hand across the table, he marveled at the feeling of tiny ridges in the wood running underneath his feather-light touch, tickling his highly sensitized skin.

Withdrawing the appendage, he continued his tour of the house, visiting the kitchen (where he had been before), the washing room, where the humans apparently washed their clothes, and the lavatory, where he marveled at the even clearer reflection in the mirror there.

Wandering into the living room, he paused to admire the strange looking black boxes and the sofa. A blue light on one of the boxes caught his eye, and he wandered over to it, his bright green eyes peering at the machine in unbridled curiosity.

Of course, the angel wasn't expected to recognize a radio.

Pressing one of the buttons on the top, the angel jumped in surprise when music blasted out of the radio's speaker.

"_All the Single Ladies! (All the Single Ladies)! All the Single Ladies! (All the Single Ladies)! Now put your hands up….!_" a woman blared out from the radio, scaring the poor angel so badly that he almost flew away with his wings.

What in Father's name was this? Who is this woman? Why was she singing to him?

More music began to blare out, as the woman continued to sing, _"Up in the club; we just broke up. I'm doing my own little thing!"_ she cried, the strange, sensual note sending the already flustered angel into a panicked frenzy. Pressing random buttons on the radio, the angel managed to cut off the horrible music only to have "Highway to Hell" scream out instead.

"WHAT KIND OF BLASPHEMY IS THIS!?" the angel shrieked as the lead singer for AC/DC blared out, "_I'm on the Hiiiiigh-way to HELL!_" _Da-na-na-na!_ "_On the Hiiiiigh-way to HELL!_"

The by now bewildered angel began to bang his supernaturally charged fists into the radio in desperation, the fear in his eyes palpable as his wings fluttered frantically behind his back.

"AAAAAAAAAHHHH!" *Bang!* *Crash!* *VWORP!*

Very rapidly the music was replaced the sound of metal and plastic crunching and breaking, and before a minute had passed, the radio was nothing more than a pile of twisted plaster and broken and sparking wires lying miserably on its place in the mantelpiece, another victim to the relentless opponent that is the divine critic.

The angel only paused in his destruction after he was sure that the blasphemous box was dead. Panting, he stepped back, his fists completely unharmed but his entire body shivering.

Swinging abut, he began to pace.

The angel wrung his hands together as he walked back and forth, back and forth, his wings fluttering again and again in unease, creating gusts of wind that swept papers aside, as he pondered the words that had blared out from the radio that he had brutally murdered.

Highway to hell?

Why did the man sing about that?

What on Earth could be so terrifying that he would so nonchalantly proclaim his sin (other than a crossroads deal, because that was completely explainable)? Has humanity fallen so far from the grace of Father that this is what they are reduced to?

His gaze once again landed on the destroyed radio, and his wings slumped to the ground as another thought occurred to him.

Were the humans going to be mad about this? Maybe he could fix it…

Looking at the pile of rubble where the radio once stood, the angel shook his head. No, he had no idea how to repair such a ridiculously complex device. No, better that he didn't touch anything else.

He'd better just sit down in this chair and not touch anything else.

He promptly sat down on one of the felt cushions when he felt something go *click* underneath his rear end. Immediately, the black mirror that sat at the front of the room flicked to life, several people suddenly being displayed.

The angel let out a yelp of surprise as the bright screen flared to life before him, and he became aware of people talking. Reaching underneath him, he pulled out another, smaller black rectangular box that had a whole bunch of little buttons all over it.

Of course, he didn't know what a TV remote (or a TV in general for that matter) looked like or even was.

He turned his eyes back to the screen and watched intently as a lady began to speak about something going on in the "Channel". Apparently he had stumbled onto some kind of news relaying device that the humans had invented, similar to the angel radio. Interesting.

At least it wasn't crazy women and men singing about hell. Might as well give this a try….

So the angel sat and listened for hours as the lady talked and talked, and he even watched the many, many commercials that interrupted the program every five minutes. Slowly, very slowly, a picture of the world as it now was began to piece itself together in his mind.

The world had gotten much bigger than when he first walked the Earth, and people had long ago moved on from sticks and stones. Now the world was run by governments and things called "corporations" (though to be honest he couldn't tell the difference), there was something called the internet that existed (which was like a breeding ground for sin, especially youtube and something called…porn?)

There were police that acted like law keepers, there were armies that fought, and there were things called guns that fired pieces of metal at each other, which the angel recognized as what the fat man had tried to use on him.

It seemed far too complicated to the angel. Wouldn't it just be simpler to stab someone than to take all the time of crafting small bits of metal to put into larger pieces of metal just to go ahead and waste all the energy by putting the small bit of metal into the other person anyway….

It suddenly dawned on the angel that Vernon, the fat man, had tried to kill him.

_How dare he!_ That ungrateful human had the gall to try to kill _me_? An _angel?!_ Even after I had shown him my wings as proof?

He truly was a non-believer.

Also, the angel noted with interest that there were many different religions, but the three biggest ones seemed to be one and the same, in the sense that they all prayed to Father. However, they all seemed to be fighting with each other over exactly who is right. How sad: humans even managed to complicate the simple matter of faith. It was why Father gave them free will: either you choose to believe in him and attain salvation, or don't and choose hell. He did not grant it to humanity so that they could slaughter each other in the name of said god! This was outrageous.

With a sigh, the angel got off the couch and wandered over to the back door, where he looked outside to see the sun streaming in. His face did not change, but elation filled him as he stared through his glasses at the beautiful midday sun, the great yellow ball casting incredible shadows on the land that were unattainable in the almost stale light of heaven.

With a flutter of wings, he was outside, standing in the back yard and feeling the sun's heat on his wings, the gray appendages spread out behind him in a manner that made them look actually rather nice. The angel smiled at that, before bringing one of the fluffy wings forward to fix a feather that had gone astray and was causing him mild discomfort.

Above him, a bird began to chirp and sing, and the angel's green eyes instantly snapped up and zeroed in on the creature, its bright blue feathers and red belly sticking out among the leafy greenness of the tree.

A tiny, almost imperceptible smile made its way onto the angel's face, and he raised his hand up, a low chirping noise coming from within his own throat as he imitated the bird's call.

The bird cocked its head at the sound, before launching itself from its perch to come and land on the angel's outstretched palm. The angel's smile grew until teeth were revealed, his happy green orbs dancing with awe as he felt the ticklish sensation of the birds tiny claws gripping the fleshy parts of his hands as it sat and stared at him, its beautiful feathered coat shifting gorgeously in the breeze.

It chirped again, cocking its head to the side.

The angel chirped right back, cocking his head to the side as well.

The bird scrutinized the angel for a moment, before leaning forward and giving him a quick peck on the cheek (a bird's kiss) and flying off, leaving the angel to stare at it in wonder.

The world may have gotten bigger while he was away, but it had not grown any less beautiful.

Of that, he was certain.

Looking around the back yard, his eyes passed many of the fat boy's toys that seemed to litter the house, before they stopped on a large black metal thing that looked like a pod on stilts. He recognized it from one of the many commercials as something called a grill, which humans used to cook their meat on. Another ingenious device built by the humans.

How come angels couldn't be this creative?

Roaming his eyes over the trees, his supernaturally advanced sight took in every single living thing he saw, from ants to squirrels. He paused when he saw the gray squirrel in the tree, its tiny nose quivering as it looked back at the angel, its little black eyes watering as it stared unintelligibly. The angel gave the squirrel a small nod, and the rodent responded by scampering up the tree, chattering as it did so.

Swishing about, the angel turned his back on the yard, his wings still spread out to absorb as much light as possible. As interesting as this was, he still had a whole house to explore.

With a flutter of wings, he was on the other side of the glass again, and calmly walking forward he stood at the base of the steps, staring up at the seemingly insurmountable obstacle with no small amount of trepidation.

For someone who had never seen a flight of stairs, these looked awfully scary.

He could always fly up, he thought, but immediately shook the idea from his head. If he was to remain here on Earth he figured he had better start figuring how to do things like a human would. Otherwise he would have no hope of blending in.

Looking back up the stairs, he made a silent prayer to his father.

'Well, here goes!'

Hesitantly lifting a foot, the angel placed it on the first step, testing the wood for stability. When he was satisfied it would not break, he continued up the steps slowly, his green eyes flicking from side to side and his ears listening to any and all sounds the wood made.

Before he knew it he had reached the top. His wings fluffing outward, he silently congratulated himself on figuring out how to use stairs so quickly.

He was now faced with a hallway that branched off to his left and to his right. On one end there appeared to be three doors, and on the other end just two.

On a snap decision, he went down the hallway to the left first, where the three doors stood invitingly.

Pausing at the end of the hallway, he was faced with three options. There was door immediately in front of him, one to his right, and one to his left.

Taking the room on the left first, the angel gasped as he was greeted by a room that was almost filled from ceiling to floor with toys of different sizes and shapes, and a monstrously large bed that could have fit four of the angel's vessel comfortably.

Apparently this was where the fat boy slept.

The angel felt his disgust rise at the sheer level of greed and gluttony the boy presented. Shaking his head, he slowly closed the door. Moving to the door that stood directly across it, he was greeted with a much smaller bedroom than the other one, also covered in Dudley's toys. Seriously, how many toys does one human need?

Shutting the door, he opened the final door and peered inside. He was faced with a small but nice bedroom, with a window on the far side of the wall, letting in some natural light. There was another one of those TV things sitting on the wall, and a very nice four poster bed. However, this room did not seem to be regularly lived in, as a veritable amount of dust had gathered in the air, indicating long term disuse.

Obviously some kind of guest room.

The angel left the room and moved to the other end of the hallway, his wings shaking a little to get the dust that had settled on them off of his sensitive feathers. He jumped a little when they brushed the side of the wall, unused to the sensation of feeling with them.

He paused when he reached the other end of the hallway, once again presented with choices: the first door to his left, and one on the end.

Opening the nearest one, he was faced with another bathroom, this one much more luxurious than the small one downstairs. It had calming green tiles and a big tub of porcelain that the angel could not even fathom its use (bathtub).

Shutting the door, he moved to the other one, and upon opening it, was faced with a grand room that had was the largest he had seen so far. An ornate bathroom was off to the side, along with a TV of its own, and a large, ornate bed. Clearly this was where the fat man and the horse woman slept.

This was also the only room on the upstairs level that deserved exploring.

Moving into the room, the angel's wings fanned out again, sending the air into a swirl. His green eyes swept over everything of importance, before landing on another door, this one painted white and with a sliding hinge.

Opening it up, the angel was faced with a solid wall of clothing, his eyes widening in surprise at the unexpected discovery. 'So this is where they store them,' he thought to himself as he ran his eyes over the many suits and fabrics. Tentatively extending his hand, he brushed his fingers over a white satin dress, almost sighing in ecstasy as the material seemed to almost caress his delicate pads.

Back in the crystal, he could feel nothing. He could see nothing. He could not move, and he could not even feel the walls encasing him.

So this was paramount to feeling heaven on his fingertips for the angel.

Eventually the angel released the dress and stepped away, his curiosity satisfied.

Closing the door, the angel made his way back down the stairs and into the living room, his eyes roaming around for anything of interest.

So far, he had visited the entire household, but, confusingly enough, he had not found where his vessel slept. Remembering that he had found the boy in a cupboard, he made his way back to the small closet under the stairs and opened it up with a snap of his fingers.

What met his gaze then did not make sense to the angel.

There, on the ground, was a small blood stained cot that was covered with a single ratty blanket. The angel's brow furrowed in silent confusion as he looked from his vessel's diminutive form and back to the small space.

Did the boy really sleep there?

How odd…

Perhaps it is some sort of custom to have the smallest child take up the least amount of space…?

The angel's confusion was mounting by the second, but it was interrupted by the sound of the mail flap on the front door flipping open and a letter slipping through and landing on the floor.

Startled out of his concentration, the angel looked up to see a small vanilla envelope lying innocently on the floor of the foyer, just sitting there waiting to be picked up. Walking over, the angel stooped down and collected the note from off the floor, staring at it with confusion.

There seemed to be some sort of writing on the front, but the angel had no idea what it said.

That's right: he, the multidimensional wave of celestial intent, could not read English.

But then again, how could he? Languages were easy enough, all angels could speak every language of the souls that entered heaven. But reading? Not so much.

He had a problem here.

He considered asking Harry, but after only a feather-light touch to the slumbering human soul that still resided with him, he thought better of it. Harry reacted with all the violence and horror that a person would have after a terrible nightmare, and began to thrash around in the angel's embrace, screaming in terror.

The angel quickly soothed the boy, sending wave after wave of warm, calming grace over the prickly soul, ushering Harry back into the dreamless sleep only those who have served as a vessel know.

So, he would have to find some other human to teach him how to read.

His wings flared out in annoyance, and he began to cast about for some solution to his problem.

Thinking back on it, he remembered the news lady saying something about libraries being a good area for learning. He should find one.

Flaring his wings, the world stopped turning. And with a downward swoop of the gray appendages, he took off!

If you have never traveled as an angel does, then it is difficult to describe what it's like. Imagine the whole world standing still and bathed in different hues: most colors fade to black, while the reds, blues, yellows, and violets become hyper enhanced.

Everything looks molecularized, especially your own body.

The next thing you know you're weightless, and the wings on your back might as well be giant motors, engines upon which to transport you to anywhere you want to go.

Living things look much different as well: rather than seeing a person's physical presence, you can instead see their souls. Plant's souls are bright green, and they flow through the earth and outline the whole of the organism. They are easily the most beautiful, and also the most abundant. You can see the bare outline of animals, but their souls shine brighter: a strong, vibrant gray/white. These are the souls bound for purgatory; the ones that live much simpler lives.

Finally, there are the souls of people. Human souls are always the most interesting: tiny blue balls, each the size of a baseball and varying in texture depending on the nature of the person. If the person is caring and kind, then the ball is mostly smooth and radiant. If the person is cruel, then it will reflect that, becoming rough and darker, with abrasions all over the place.

You yourself are a mass of white grace, your presence ever flowing and vaporous, majestic in its own way. A true vessel of heavenly intent.

And you can go anywhere. The stars are plotted out above your head, the Earth itself an easily surmountable object, and distance no longer becomes a problem.

There is truly no greater way to travel.

The angel soared above them all, the stars above him, the Earth below him, startling in its stillness as he moved faster than the speed of light itself, his presence drifting over the souls below him as he searched for the whisper of minds that indicated that he had found his goal.

And there it was.

With a flutter of wings, the Earth seemed to shift back into focus, and people's physical bodies once again became visible.

The angel shuffled his wings behind him, a very small, pleased grin making itself known on his face for just a fleeting second, before once again his expression was as stoic as a stone statue.

Looking up, he watched as people passed back and forth before him into a great stone building. The people were clutching books to their chests, and the smell of parchment and ink rested on the air.

He had arrived.

Now to find a proper teacher; should be simple, right?

* * *

><p>Phil was a studious man. At twenty two years of age, he had a girlfriend named Michelle, an apartment that was reasonably well priced, and a diploma looming ahead. He had a lot to look forward to.<p>

Which is why it was so surprising when he found himself suddenly cornered by a green-eyed kid with baggy clothing and huge round glasses as he was making his way back from the bathroom.

"C-can I help you, little boy?" he asked, smiling nervously at the kid in what he hoped was a disarming gesture. The boy tilted his head slightly as his verdant green eyes scrutinized him, as if deciding his worth. Finally, the kid nodded and opened his mouth.

"Yes. I was hoping you could teach me to read," he said matter of factly.

Phil blinked a few times, his face twisting in confusion. "Um, sorry…what?" he asked.

The angel blinked. "It will only take a few moments," the angel said as he reached up with his hand, two fingers extended.

"Wha-?"

Phil was cut off as the fingers pressed against his head, and everything went black.

* * *

><p>The angel stared down at the drooling human mess that lay on the floor, a mild sensation of guilt and repulsion sweeping through him. "My apologies…" he mumbled, his wide green eyes watching as another line of spit rolled out of the human's mouth as his right eye twitched lazily, staring off into space as he lay with his limbs askew.<p>

'I didn't think it would hit him that hard!' he thought, staring at the man with growing regret. 'I'll have to be gentler next time. I hope he'll recover soon,' he thought, before flying away in a buffet of wings, leaving Phil the college student lying in a heap on the floor. But the good news was that he now knew how to read!

* * *

><p>With a flutter of wings, the angel landed in the house, his eyes shining with eagerness on his otherwise blank face as he zeroed in on the letter that was resting innocently on the table. "You're mine now," he rumbled, moving forward with a predatory speed as the letter sat helplessly, unable to avoid the incoming angel hellbent on devouring its secrets.<p>

All joking aside, the angel truly was interested as to the contents of the letter, and he picked up with an eagerness that was not reflected by his stolid expression.

His eyes landed on the address, and he applied his new knowledge of words that he had copied from Phil to piece together the message that was on the outer seal.

'To Mr. Harry J. Potter, Number Eight Privet Drive, Cupboard under the stairs,' he read. "That's an odd way to address a letter," he said. Was it customary to list off where they slept?

He opened up the letter delicately, his hands sliding easily over the parchment, absorbing every second of feeling it. Pulling out the main letter from the interior, he was faced with three pages full of carefully handwritten notes.

The letter went as follows:

_'HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY'_

_Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore_

_(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock,  
>Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)<em>

_Dear Mr. Potter,_

_We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment._

_Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Minerva McGonagall_

_Deputy Headmistress_

The angel paused in his reading, his eyes widening as he realized exactly what he was holding. "Magic?!" he asked aloud, his face forming into a genuine expression of shock for the first time in the angel's life.

He flipped to the next page and continued reading.

_HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY_

_UNIFORM_

_First-year students will require:_

_1. Three sets of plain work robes (black)_

_2. One plain pointed hat (black) for day wear_

_3. One pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar)_

_4. One winter cloak (black, with silver fastenings)_

'Holy Father in heaven, where I am going to get all that?' he thought. Looking back down, he continued reading.

_COURSE BOOKS_

_All students should have a copy of each of the following:_

_The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1) by Miranda Goshawk, A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot, Magical Theory by Adalbert Waffling, A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration by Emeric Switch, One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi by Phyllida Spore, Magical Drafts and Potions by Arsenius Jigger, Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them by Newt Scamander, and The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection by Quentin Trimble_

_OTHER EQUIPMENT_

_1 wand, 1 cauldron (pewter, standard size 2), 1 set glass or crystal phials, 1 telescope, 1 set brass scales._

_Students may also bring, if they desire, an owl OR a cat OR a toad._

_PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST YEARS_

_ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICK_

The angel turned to the third page, his eyes wide as he continued reading.

_HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY_

_Students who are muggle born or are until now unaware of the wizarding world should be directed to the Leaky Cauldron in London, whereupon they will find the entrance to Diagon Alley, where the supplies will be available._

_I thank you for your time, and hope you consider coming to Hogwarts._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Lucinda Thomsonicle-Pocus_

_Chief Attendant of Witchcraft Provisions._

The angel let the pages drop from his numb fingers as the information swarmed through him. Potions? Magic? Witches and Wizards? What in Father's name was going on?

Looking down at himself, he stared at his body with open shock, his normally stoic face now uncharacteristically gaping in shock.

His vessel. Harry. He must be a wizard. Natural born, probably. There was no other explanation for it.

This made everything more complicated.

What should he do?

Should he accept? Go to this 'Hogwarts'? What purpose would it serve him? He was an angel, he could not use magic!

Although…

His mind sped up as thoughts and ideas flew about in his head, and before a second had passed a crazy, insane, absolute absurd plan had formed in his head that was so ridiculous it could make even the emotionless Raphael split his sides in laughter.

Grace alone was not doing anything to help him regain his name and memories. However, grace _and_ magic, _together, _might have a chance to.

Ergo, he should definitely take this opportunity to investigate this wizarding world.

With shaking hands and quivering wings, he bent down to retrieve the fallen pages, gripping them tight in his small delicate hands that belied his unbelievable strength. He could crush the paper into pulp, squeezing the moisture right out of it, if he wasn't careful, so he forced himself to relax. Looking at the third page again, he read over and over the location he was to go.

Leaky Cauldron. London. Diagon Alley.

Flaring his wings high, he paused and looked around the house one last time, his glowing green eyes taking it in for what he had a feeling would be the last time.

He felt no remorse, no sense of loss, as he brought his wings down.

In a flap of gray wings, he vanished, leaving behind nothing but an old house that was suddenly silent.

Empty.

Cold.

He soared across the sky, free as a bird, the stars above him, the Earth below him. Off to new adventures and sights.

'Nothing will stop me!' he thought.

'I… will break the skies!'

* * *

><p><strong>Woohoo! Yeah! Triumphant angels ride the skies once again! Ha-haaaaa!<strong>

**Oh, I have so much fun with this! Also: no offense meant for anyone who likes Beyonce. I love her, her voice is beautiful, and she's gorgeous, but for a millenia year old, _amnesiac _angel of the lord, I'm guessing she would be a little...much.**

**As Per usual, please let me know if you catch any mistakes, and let me know what you think by reviewing. ****You would not believe how much faster it makes me write!**

**Favorite, Follow, and Review.**

**PEACE BITCHES, I'M OUT-** Arudon

**(You know you want to!)**

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**V**


	3. Atmosphere

**Wow, that was quick. I got the second half of this chapter done in just one day! Sorry for the slow update time, I got wrapped in some other stuff, and also got my mind blown by an awesome idea for another story. To all those who have watched Kuroko's basketball (which is a good anime, even if it does take itself too seriously) this will make more sense: In a pseudo medieval/fantasy setting, the Generation of Miracles were a group of super skilled, highly trained fighters that were formed under the direct training of a mysterious teacher in the great kingdom of Teiko, which ruled over the entire country. After the fall of the kingdom of Teiko, and the subsequent break up of the country into smaller kingdoms, the Miracles each went their own way, eventually insinuating themselves into the scattered kingdoms, intent on taking over as much territory as possible. One of them, the mysterious shadow Miracle, travels to a city by the sea that is newly formed: Seirin. There he meets a traveling warrior who trained across the sea with skilled warriors, and has returned home to help stabilize his shattered country.**

**Each army has a pivotal group known as the point group. They are the best fighters in the army, and are crucial for winning battles. This is where the teams from Kuroko's basketball will come into play, and each individual high school is a kingdom. So it's sort of like Game of Thrones, except with the Generation of Miracles as the main fighters, and a lot more kingdoms. **

**Just a thought.**

**Anyway, I don't own Harry Potter or Supernatural, but I do own the Green-eyed angel. SO THERE! HA!**

* * *

><p>The streets of London were packed full of people as they bustled about that Saturday morning, the cold gray clouds hanging over their heads like silent sentinels as the observed the passing of the myriad of human souls. The clouds did not notice much, but they did notice the breath of heavenly air that wafted past them as an entity made of pure light sailed through the heavens, invisible to the humans below and incomprehensibly powerful in his speed.<p>

The angel's ears were tuned in to the whispering of the souls of the people below, sifting through the minds of the masses, trying to locate his target.

_There!_

'Bloody hell, the Leaky Cauldron is getting harder and harder to find nowadays!' came the voice of a man as he stepped up to the establishment. Descending from on high, the angel rematerialized in a flutter of wings behind the man, his form coalescing in an instant as his wings folded up neatly behind him, the feathers sliding smoothly over each other.

Stepping up, the angel kept behind the man as he opened the big black door to the large pub, wishing to remain out of sight for now.

The angel looked around with huge green eyes, his inquisitive and ever learning mind taking in everything around him with the precision rivaling that of the best archers in the world.

He was met with a grimy pub that had a darkened interior, where several shifty looking wizards all sat around holding drinks of some kind in their hands. A few looked up to glance at the man that the angel was tailing, but only one of them bothered to glance down at the boy.

That wizard's eyes widened as he took in the bedraggled appearance of the boy, with his grimy, bloody, oversized clothes and crazy black hair. Pure, glowing green eyes caught the wizard's own, the boy staring at the man in contemplation, before looking away, as if finding him unworthy of further inspection.

Looking around, the angel searched for anything that would indicate an exit, other than the one behind him. Upon seeing none, his brow furrowed slightly, breaking the emotionless mask his face normally assumed.

He looked around again, before his bright green eyes landed on the form of the barkeeper, who was polishing his bar with a clean white rag and whistling to himself.

Moving forward at a sedate pace, the angel stopped before the counter, his head just barely cresting the top as he took in the wizard before him.

Tom the barkeeper was a well rounded man, with very few personality flaws. He was jovial and chipper, witty with the intelligent, but just down to earth enough for the everyday man to understand. The perfect temperament for someone in his line of work. He was short, for a man, and appeared to be in his late forties to early fifties, with graying and balding hair and an ample belly. He wore a white shirt with the classic apron strapped to the front, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows to allow him free movement as he scrubbed away merrily at the wood before him, the tune he was whistling lilting softly through the air, mixing with the conversation and adding a little life to the bar.

His dark brown eyes rarely looked up, but when he felt the hairs stand up on the back of his neck, he glanced up to find himself locked in the very intense gaze of two gorgeously green eyes. Leaning forward, the bartender peered down at the diminutive customer, his eyes taking in a mop of crazy black hair that would not lie still, grubby, oversized (and slightly bloody) clothes, and again, those otherworldly green eyes that seemed to pierce his skin and stare directly into the far inner reaches of his soul.

Which, of course, they were. But he didn't need to know that.

A toothy grin lit up his face as he stared down at the boy. "Can I help you, little one?" he asked, his eyes twinkling merrily. The angel nodded as he stepped back a bit, moving so he didn't have to crane his head up to stare at him. He hoped he wouldn't have to always be this short; it was starting to become rather bothersome.

"I was wondering if you could tell me how to get to Diagon Alley," the angel said, holding up his Hogwarts letter for the barman to see.

Tom's eyes immediately lit up, and his smile widened to reveal a gold tooth. "Oh, Hogwarts bound are ye?" he proclaimed. At the angel's nod, he clapped his hands together and set down his rag. "Well, what's your name then?" he asked as he moved around the bar to stand by the boy's side.

The angel paused for a moment.

What was his name? Should he answer truthfully, tell him that he was an angel?

That didn't really work well last time. Better not.

So what then? What should he call himself?

Well, the letter was addressed to Mr. Harry J. Potter, not Mr. Angel of the Lord. Perhaps he should introduce himself as such, then.

Yes, from now on he was Harry, Angel of the Lord. That had a nice ring to it. Not as nice as his own name, he was sure, but then again, what's the point of having an angelic name if you can't remember it.

"My name is Harry Potter," he said.

The effect was immediate.

All noise and movement in the bar stopped, and Tom's jaw dropped to the floor in disbelief.

For a whole half minute, no one moved a muscle.

Unseen by his audience, Harry's gray wings flared in something akin to nervousness, but mostly confusion. What? What had he said?

Oh no, they hadn't figure him out had they! No, it was impossible, they couldn't know he had lied, could they? COULD THEY? He knew it was a sin, but he had hoped that wizards did not have as stringent laws against sinning as heaven did. Oh please tell me they didn't already figure it out that he wasn't Harry!

Could they throw him out of his vessel? Did they have that kind of power?

Oh No, _No_, **_No_**, **_NOOOOOOOO-!_**

The angel's inner monologue was interrupted by the sudden movement of the man closest to him getting up with a start, his grimy face alight with sheer, unadulterated joy. Moving forward with speed that should not be possible, the man lunged towards the angel and snagged his hand, pumping it up and down vigorously, his large grin (missing quite a few teeth, mind you) spreading from ear to ear. "Welcome back, Mr. Potter! Welcome back!" he gasped, his breath coming in short pants as he seemed to be hyperventilating.

What?

Immediately people started to move forward, all reaching their hands forward to try to shake the angel's.

Again, WHAT?!

"Doris Crockford, Mr. Potter, and a pleasure it is too meet you!" another wizard said as he pumped Harry's arm vigorously. Harry's green eyes glanced down at their linked hands, and his mind began to piece together that it must be some sort of greeting.

"And you as well," he said, to which everyone around him cooed and hooted. "Such nice manners!" "Such green eyes!" "Look at that hair!" "And he's so tiny!" "Oh, I just want to pick him up and squeeze those rosy little cheeks!"

The angel began to back up, his wings flapping nervously behind him, creating gusts of wind that shook the flaps on the wizards and witches robes. His eyes widened slightly, and he shrank down just a fraction.

To anyone else it would seem like nothing.

To the angel, it was paramount to (while in his true form) flipping over on his back and flashing his white belly scales in terror, his mouth open wide and screaming bloody murder, and his wings flapping with the power of small hurricanes to project his distress.

He did NOT like people this close to him.

WHAT IS GOING ON?! WHY ARE THEY DOING THIS TO _ME? _DO THEY ALWAYS TREAT NEWCOMERS LIKE THIS?

He stopped when his back hit the wall, and his hands began to clench as the crowd continued to press in around him.

'OhFatherpleasesavemesavemesavemesavemesavemesavemeSAVEME!'

Tom was always known to be an astute observer. He could tell just by looking at a person if a smile was sincere, or if they had an ulterior motive. He could read a person's intent just from the way sat down, to what they were thinking by the way they drank a drink.

Call it barman's intuition, if you will.

So even though the signs were small, he immediately noticed that Harry was not at all comfortable with all the attention he was receiving. He could read the emotions off the small boy as if it were written in neon letters. Pushing forward, the old barkeeper placed himself between the crowd and the boy, his gentle smile spreading out across his face as he raised his hands to placate the ravenous mob.

"Ladies, Gentlemen, please, calm down," he said over the rabble, and the people naturally began to fall silent as their eyes tuned in to the barman's soothing voice. All innkeepers and bar-owners knew exactly how to handle large crowds. They had to, otherwise bar fights would be a lot more common than they were.

His gaze turned slightly fiercer as he directed his dark gray eyes to each individual.

"We are wizards, not savages! Give the poor boy some space, why don't you?!" he said harshly, causing many of the patrons to back up and hang their heads in shame.

The bartender turned back to face the small boy, who continued to press into the wall, his face still void of all emotion but his bright green eyes betraying the gratitude he felt towards the man. "I'm assuming you don't take to well to crowds, eh lad?" Tom asked, his gentle smile still playing out across his face.

The angel cocked his head for a moment, before slowly shaking his head from side to side, as if the gesture were an entirely alien concept (which it was of course; angels mostly used their wings in their true forms to show their positives and negatives).

Eventually, the crowd dispersed, going back to their drinks, but many kept their eyes on the angel, all expressing signs of open shock and awe. Tom chuckled at the nervousness the boy was expressing, before clapping a hand down on the angel's shoulder and pulling him off the wall. "Well now, don't you worry your pretty little head over it, lad. I'll get you settled. Come on," he said cheerily, before steering the angel towards a doorway beside the bar.

"We have quite a few access points for Diagon Alley, but for some reason Hogwarts officials seem to think that my bar is the best!" he said jovially as he guided the angel through his establishment. The angel peered up at him with curiosity, his mind absorbing every word of the man's speech. "Of course, I don't mind at all. It's always good to see the new faces as they come in," he continued happily, before turning a corner and opening up a door.

"And here we are," Tom said, sweeping his hand dramatically towards…

A solid brick wall.

The angel cocked his head, furrowed his brow, before finally turning his head to look up at the barman. "I don't understand," he said, his quiet voice instantly catching Tom's attention. His smile spread out again on his face.

This was always his favorite part.

"Of course not. How silly of me," he answered playfully.

The angel's brow furrowed even deeper. What was the mage talking about? Perhaps he was…stupid? Is that the phrase?

Reaching into the folds of his apron, Tom pulled out his wand. At seven and a half inches, made of hawthorn and unicorn hair, it was his pride and joy in life. Stepping forward, he began to tap on the brick wall in a very particular pattern.

The angel's green eyes widened slightly as the bricks suddenly began to shift and move, popping out of their cemented positions to rearrange themselves like puzzle pieces. It was incredible: he could actually see the magic weaving itself through the bricks, the golden and silvery threads invisible to all humans, but quite visible to beings such as him.

Very impressive. Perhaps the old bartender was more astute than he had at first thought.

With a final *click*, the last brick slotted into place, leaving an archway in its place that led to a great, bustling street filled with light and brightly colored smoke. Turning to face the barman, he cast his mind back to his lessons from the television. What was it that humans would say when they were grateful for something?

"Th-Thank you," the angel said awkwardly, his face void of all other expression. Tom nodded, before bending down and placing a hand on the boy's shoulder, his dark gray eyes meeting those of unblinking emerald green. "Now, I know this may be strange and new to you, but don't be frightened by it,"

As if.

"This world can be a marvelous place to live in,"

I'm sure.

"But it can also be dangerous,"

Just try to hurt me. _Just TRY!_

"But you're a clever lad, so I'm sure you'll do fine."

A warm feeling budded in the angel's chest, and a small smile (almost undetectable, and it would have gone unnoticed if Tom wasn't looking for it) briefly played across his lips. He nodded slowly, his unblinking eyes never leaving those of Tom's own dark gray.

"Alright, good. Now, since you're the boy-who-lived, you're going to have a lot of attention directed at you. Just keep your head down, don't draw too much attention, and you'll be fine," Tom said with a kindly smile.

The angel's brow furrowed. 'Boy-who-lived?' he thought.

His wings fluffed in confusion, but the man had already moved on. "I'm not sure if you were told, but if it's money you'll be needin', then Gringotts is the place to go. I'm sure that they'll let you access your vault, they've got to have some sort of verification tests or some'at."

Tom paused again and scrutinized the young boy. Green eyes looked back at him with complete passivity.

"You don't know where that is, do you?" he asked, a deadpan expression on his face.

The angel blinked, before slowly shaking his head.

Tom sighed.

Raising his hand, he pointed down the length of the alley. "Alright, you see that big shop there, the one that says 'Magical Emporium'?" he asked, and the angel nodded, his head swiveling like an owl's until his green eyes locked onto the establishment. "Well," Tom continued, "Gringotts is just a little ways after that; just round the bend, in fact. You'll see it when you get there, huge place, can't miss it. Just go inside, and tell the Goblins you're Harry Potter, and it will all be sorted out, you'll see!" the bartender said excitedly, patting the boy on the head, the crazy black hair becoming even more tangled than before.

Harry looked at the man, before another fleeting smile made its way across his face as he stared into the old bartender's soul. The man had a bright, honest center, and he read nothing but good intentions coming from him. Raising his hand, he placed two fingers on the man's forehead, and in a tradition that has long since been forgotten by angel kind, placed a blessing upon the man's soul.

Tom's mouth dropped open as the most wonderful swooping sensation filled him, as if he had suddenly grown wings and were flying through the skies. He felt his magic sing in triumph as the sensation passed through him, lighting up every extremity of his old body with warmth.

"Thank you, kind sir. I leave you with my blessing. Go and be free of sin, and when you reach Eden, tell them I sent you," he heard the angel whisper in his ear, before a sound of fluttering wings reached his ear.

When his eyes finally refocused, he looked down to see an empty street.

The angel was gone.

* * *

><p>Harry blinked.<p>

And blinked again.

His gray wing shuffled behind him as his huge, Avada Kedavra green eyes stared up at the imposing structure standing before him. To one of his small size (both human and true form, which was small for an angel), Gringotts appeared to be a giant fortress of white and gold encrusted doom, with two Goblin guards dressed in full body armor and bearing jewel-encrusted gold weapons that were positively dripping with enchantments.

Of course, they would have no effect on the angel, but it was still an impressive display. Above the main entrance, which the two goblins were positioned at, a plaque bore the gold encrusted words of a poem:

_Enter, stranger, but take heed_

_Of what waits the sin of greed._

_For those who take, but do not earn,_

_Must pay most dearly in their turn._

_So if you seek beneath our floors_

_A treasure that was never yours,_

_Thief, you have been warned, beware_

_Of finding more than treasure there._

The angel blinked again.

"Well that is quite ominous," he mumbled aloud, his face a blank slate but his wings fluffing nervously. He hoped he wouldn't have to resort to thievery, as he did not yet know the full strength of these Goblins, but he had a fair amount of confidence in his own abilities if it came down to it.

He could probably smite about two hundred of them before he grew tired, and even then he could just fly away.

Still, it would be a tad inconvenient.

The angel was brought back from his internal musings as a man in deep purple robes knocked against his shoulder, the human stumbling as the angel's body did not give at all. Looking around, the angel saw a multitude of people moving past him, the brightly dressed witches and wizards not even stopping to look down at the small boy in bloody muggle clothing, too occupied with their own problems.

By the Father, there are so many more than there were _before_ I was incarcerated. Just how long have I been gone?

How much has the world grown?

At that moment, the angel felt incredibly small; not just physically, but spiritually: he was truly dwarfed by God's grand plan.

…

'Knock it off' he thought, before shaking his head to rid himself of his brief existential crisis. Steeling his nerves, he strode forward, passing between the guards with his head held up proudly. He was a _Warrior_ of _God_! Let those who stood before him tremble against his divine wrath!

These thoughts were almost immediately banished as he was met with the gorgeous interior of the Wizarding Bank, the Goblin Nation's pride and joy.

Stretching out before him was a grand hall, with an ornate red carpet running right down the middle of the main walkway.

The ceiling was high, almost invisible, and as the angel craned his head back, he could see gorgeous mosaics painted across it, depicting legendary battles between Goblins and Wizards, showing the history of the two species. There were columns of pure gold and silver holding up the entire hall, while tapestries displaying proud Goblin kings hung between them.

It was quite reminiscent of the Hall of Revelation, the angel thought. Only…smaller.

And darker.

(…And, admittedly, prettier)

Fluffing his wings again, the angel strode confidently down the aisle of bank tellers. On either side of the red carpet were stands, each about six feet high and with a goblin perched atop each. At his full height of four foot seven, Harry couldn't even see the goblins they were so high up.

No, that's not quite true. He could see them, or rather, he could see the glow their souls made. They were different from a human's: rather than a glowing blue ball, the goblins' souls were a small box of bright red energy, pulsing with malice and cunning. Very fitting for a warlike race such as them.

Stopping at the very end of carpet, the angel looked up to the final kiosk, where a goblin was busy counting out gold coins.

"Excuse me," the angel said softly, and the Goblin grunted before sitting up. Leaning forward, the goblin looked over the edge of his desk and peered down at the angel before him, his lips half parted in a snarl. "Yes, may I help you?" the goblin asked, its beady black eyes narrowing.

The angel's eyes narrowed at the hostile expression the goblin seemed to be making.

Did he wish to fight? Because if so, he would soon be sorely regretting his rash decision.

"I wish to access my…vault…?" the angel said, wondering if he said it right. He was still unsure why all of this was necessary, but according to the news women that he had seen yesterday, this _money _was what made the humans' world go round.

It was stupid, really. Heaven had no such system!

But then again, apart from their personalized angel blade, their mate, or any souls that they had marked as specifically theirs, angels had no concept of personal property. Heaven just didn't work that way; greed wasn't allowed.

Which is why the whole idea of a _bank_ was so _confusing!_

The goblin raised an eyebrow at the angel. "And which vault would that be?" he asked.

The angel blinked. "My name is Harry Potter," he replied stoically.

The goblin recoiled in surprise. He had not expected that! However, shock quickly turned into suspicion, and within seconds the goblin had schooled his expression back into one of a sneer.

"Are you sure that that is your identity?" the goblin growled.

The angel cocked his head. Why did everyone react so strangely when he said his name?! Maybe it was…rude…somehow…?

Oh, **_Father_** this is confusing!

"…Yes…." he said, his head cocked slightly.

The goblin's eyes narrowed. "Well, Mr. Potter, you wouldn't mind if we ran a blood test, would you. It's just that we've had so many little boys come in here, claiming to be Harry Potter, that we don't quite know what to do with them all!" the goblin said, a malicious grin spreading out across his face.

The angel's expression did not change, but unseen by the mortal his wings flared up higher, and his grace swirled about, ready to smite him if he should make any hostile movements. "That would be…acceptable," the angel finally said, and the goblin's grin fell slightly. Normally, fakers would have cracked at this point and confessed. This boy did not.

Interesting.

The goblin grabbed a bowl and a knife from on top of his stand before climbing down the back, a feral grin spreading out across his face as he did so. 'Well,' he thought, his forked tongue slipping out to moisten his lips, 'If this _is _an impostor, then he will certainly have a nasty surprise coming for him!'

The test he was about to perform served two purposes: one, it would determine if the boy was telling the truth about his identity (and if he wasn't then it would destroy him), and two, it would test his magical core, to see how powerful he was. This was not exactly necessary, but it was always interesting and worthwhile to get to know the level their customers were playing on.

That's the kind of thing that interested goblins, after all.

Stepping around the side of his stand, the goblin's bright red eyes locked gazes with the angel's own green. Harry was pleased to note that the goblin was actually shorter than him, allowing the tiny nub that was the angel's developing ego to grow a little. At least he wasn't _completely _dwarfed by everything this world had to offer!

(Not that he was either way, his true form was easily taller than anything around him, with his height alone at a whopping thirty feet tall when fully erect, and his length at least twice that).

Raising the (admittedly very pretty) ceremonial knife, the goblin gripped the boy's hand and ran the blade across the palm and stopped, letting the sponge like properties of the knife go to work as it soaked up some of the blood.

As he did this, time seemed to stop for the angel.

He almost _swooned _as the magic of the blade sank deep within his essence, trying to find any remnants of his identity, searching for something that simply wasn't there. The angel's heart quickened: **this is why he had come! **The magic of the mages might be able to accomplish what grace alone could not!

Spreading his wings and flaring his grace, he opened himself up to the magic, begging it, no, _imploring _it to search through him and uncover his name. He felt the magic pause at his eagerness, before the energy seemed to _snarl _and surge forward, plundering deep into the depths of the angel's divine presence. It sifted through his grace, the energy _so_ like magic, but again _so different. _He felt its anger when it could not find any trace of his name, but paused when it felt the traces of Harry's soul.

The angel's hopes dashed, he let out a sigh (mentally of course. All this was taking place in under a fraction of a second!) and guided the magic towards the soul of his vessel, where a small magical core thrummed. The magic of the blade seemed to coil around the soul, sending off little *pings*, as if it were sounding the depths of an ancient ocean. After satisfying itself that this was, indeed, Harry Potter (or at least his soul), the energy retracted and snagged a part of the angel's grace as well, mistaking it for the magical core.

The angel winced as he felt a small portion of his grace be pulled away as the energy retracted, and with a final *pop*, the magic was gone, and the blade was being retracted from his palm. The angel let out a breath he didn't know he had been holding, disappointment and apprehension swirling about in his heavenly depths.

The goblin, completely unaware of the rapid-fire exchange of energies that had just took place, scowled at the boy as he scraped the blade of the knife along the edge of the bowl. Like a sponge being squeezed, the knife relinquished its hold on the viscous liquid, allowing the blood to trickle down into the water held at the bottom. After all the blood had filtered in, the goblin produced a piece of paper from the folds of his jacket and dropped it in, his beady red eyes narrowing as it passed through the surface of the water and sank to the bottom.

The angel too watched with intrigue as slowly the water and blood began to merge and swirl together, and the solution began to glow a brilliant white.

Suddenly, with the force of an exploding bomb, the bowl erupted with the energy of the grace, the entire hall filled with the divine light emanating from the bowl, easily ten times more powerful than even the largest of magical cores. The bowl, which was by now far too bright to look at directly, began to shake and tremble, forcing the goblin to drop it and spilling the contents all over the floor, the glorious light spilling across the dim hallway like liquid diamonds.

Hissing, everyone in the hall recoiled from the energy, their hands raised to cover their eyes to avoid being blinded by the pure radiance that was the combined energy of grace and magic. Spreading out, the liquid seemed to roil and curl on itself, as if battling, a high pitched whining coming from it, like the sound of a thousand fairies all screaming their highest pitches. Of course, humans weren't supposed to recognize the divine voice of angels as the voices filled the hall.

The angel cocked his head to the side as he recognized the words being said. He didn't remember this! Perhaps the magic _had _somehow unlocked a bit of his memories. But the voices were disjointed and confusing, as if they were pulled from many different points and conversations in his past that he had either been privy to or had participated in.

Translating from Enochian, this is roughly what was said:

_"Balthazar, what have I told you about glueing Cassie's wings together?"_

_"How dare you, Gadreel! How dare you do this!"_

_"Zachariah! Forgive me!"_

_"CONFETTI IT'S A PARADE!"_

_"Castiel get down!"_

_"I love you. Please don't leave me. Please don't go!"_

_"Michael, please stop this at once! You can't do this to him! You're brothers! He's my ma-"_

_"Gabriel! Get these ribbons OUT of my wings this instant! How did you even get them there in the first place?!"_

_"**Lucifer NO!**"_

The angel gasped in shock as these voices all entered his ear, pinging around in his head. This was his life, disjointed and discordant. Abruptly, the voice cut off, and the light slowly began to fade as the liquid burnt through its power. With a final shudder, the light extinguished itself, and the water returned to its previous natural state, devoid of any light or energy. In the center of the puddle, the piece of paper lay innocently, its fringes frayed slightly from the onslaught of both the divine _and_ arcane energy. Across the paper, written in glowing white letters, were the two words that denoted his identity: Harry Potter.

Everyone stared in shock. No one moved.

Stepping forward, the shell shocked goblin stooped down and scooped up the slip of paper, staring at the printed words in disbelief. Slowly, he raised his eyes back up to meet those of pure emerald green.

The angel's eyes were burning with a divine fire, the green positively glowing with power. His face was devoid of emotion, but his skin practically humming with energy and righteousness. Unseen by all, his gray wings flared behind him, their impressive twelve foot length a testament to his strength.

He looked positively terrifying.

"I assume that you have what you need?" the angel said, his arms folding across his chest in a movement that did not seem natural (which it wasn't, but he was still learning).

The goblin nodded shakily, all traces of his former scowl and hostility completely wiped from his face. If anything, the goblin almost seemed to be acting…submissive. Cowardly.

It was a drastic change, and far out of character. But one can hardly blame the poor creature: in all his time at Gringotts, the goblin had never seen such a strong core. Most wizards, when put to the same test, only had magical cores that were strong enough to light maybe a foot of darkness. There had only ever been one recorded case of a pure white core (which was Merlin himself) and even he hadn't lit up the hall like the sun.

Just who was this wizard? Where did he come from? How does a form as small and insignificant as that contain such unbelievable power?

Trembling slightly, the goblin gestured for another of his race to step forward, and attendant quickly ran up from behind the shadows of a pillar, his mouth open as he stared in awe at the boy. "Griphook here," the first goblin said, gesturing to the new arrival. "Will guide you to your vaults, Mister Potter. Enjoy your stay at Gringotts," he finished, before meandering away, his steps shaky and uncertain, as if he were about to vomit (which he was).

Turning, the angel fixed his gorgeous green eyes upon Griphook's own beady black ones. The color of the new goblin's eyes reminded him of Vernon's, and the angel's eyebrows lowered slightly as he was reminded of the fat pig.

That's several brownie points taken from you, Mr. Griphook, for making me think of such a disgusting subject.

"Well? Shall we be going?" Harry asked. The goblin jumped at the sound of the angel's quiet voice, before nodding his little head enthusiastically, his slicked back hair catching the torchlight.

"Right this way, Mr. Potter!" he announced, before setting off down the hall, the curious angel following after him.

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><p><strong>Alright, I know it was rather short, but if I had continued to write all of Diagon Alley scene, it would have been too long and you guys would probably have missed a few things. Don't worry, Diagon Alley plus Hogwarts Express next chapter. I promise!<strong>

**Rate and Review-** Arudon

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**V**


	4. Ozone

**Hello everyone, I'm back with another chapter. To all those who are getting impatient (That means you Liontamer!) I will be updating at least once every weekend. If not on Saturday, then on Sunday. If not, then I am either dead or unavoidably delayed due to outside interference.**

**Anyway, thanks so much to everyone who reviewed! I'm telling you, it's a great help. I'm having just as much fun writing as you guys are reading it, so stay tuned, because this character is going to be going all over the place.**

**Well, that's all from me, here you go!**

**P.S: I don't own Harry Potter or Supernatural. I soooooooooo wish I did though!**

* * *

><p>What followed next was a series of events that the angel would not soon forget. The little goblin led him on a winding path through the Gringotts hallways, passing magnificent works of art on their way (mostly busts of ancient goblin kings and nobles who were by now long dead).<p>

He was then subjected to a cart ride that had such severe turns and twists that if he were any less of an angel he was sure that he would have lost his lunch (that is, of course, assuming that he had actually _had_ lunch…which he hadn't). After the horrible cart lurched to a stop, the goblin hopped out and grabbed a lantern from the front. "Right this way, Mr. Potter," the goblin said in his overexcited voice. Swallowing back his displeasure, Harry pulled himself out of the cart, his wings finally unfurling from where he had pressed them into his back. Fluffing them in an attempt to fix a few crooked feathers, the angel winced when he felt a couple of them rubbing him the wrong way._ 'There are probably more than a few that were bent out of shape by that,'_ he thought. Sending a pointed look at Griphook, he huffed and refolded the wings. He didn't want to start preening in front of a mortal, especially ones as perceptive as these goblins were.

Stepping forward, the angel paused before the door to the vault, the flat iron door eerily reminiscent to the prison door back in heaven. Seeing no handle, latch, or any other visible means of accessing the door, the angel's brow furrowed and he sent a quizzical glance down towards the goblin. "Just a small drop of your blood should do the trick, since we don't have a key, Mr. Potter," the goblin said, his beady black eyes narrowing.

Harry frowned.

The last time blood got involved, he'd almost blown up the main hall. He hoped that wouldn't happen here.

Raising his hand to his mouth, he sank his teeth into the skin of one his fingers, piercing the flesh and causing blood to swell to the surface. Reaching down, deep into the depths of his being, the angel wrapped around the soul of his vessel and tugged a small bit of magic from the boy's core. Pulling the magic up, he imbued the blood staining his fingers with it, making sure to keep as little of his grace as possible from mixing with the magic.

Apparently, combining arcane and divine powers proved to be a particularly volatile combination. He did _not_ want to cause a large explosion when they were this far underground.

Granted, he would survive (last time he checked he was still resistant to pressure and oxygen deprivation), but it would still be an inconvenience for everyone, especially if he had to save Griphook.

That could lead to an unfortunate line of questioning.

The angel shook the thoughts away as he focused on his task.

When he was satisfied that enough of Harry's magic was mixed into the blood, he palmed the door, allowing the sponge-like properties of the metal to soak up the bright red liquid laced with his vessel's magical signature. Almost immediately, a deep *gong* resonated through the door, and the loud rumbling of gears could be heard, before a metallic *creak* sounded and the door slowly swung open.

Harry's eyes widened as his face was illuminated with a golden light.

Well.

He hadn't been expecting…**this!**

Mountains of gold, silver, rubies, emeralds, sapphires, and precious crystals met the angel's gaze, the gold being the source of the light. He blinked as his eyes traced the enormous mounds of wealth, taking in a pair of diamonds the size of saucer plates. His face did not change in expressions, but his wings did flap a few times, creating gusts of wind.

His bright green eyes took in the rich tapestries that adorned the wall, and there, on the far side of the vault, stood rows upon rows of shelves containing what looked like ancient volumes of mystical books, just brimming with arcane knowledge.

He was stunned. He knew he needed…

*sigh*

_Money; _but this seemed a little…much.

He jumped when he felt a nudge on his arm, and looking down he found Griphook standing there holding a large bag with the Gringotts seal embroidered on the front of it. "Take as much as you'd like, sir; the bag is bottomless and weightless," he said, and the angel nodded before accepting the token.

Opening it up, the angel began to shovel large handfuls of gold into it when a small brown book caught his eye. He frowned as a small tendril of magic niggled at his grace, the traces of a powerful compulsion charm that, if he were human, would fill him with the desire to take ahold of the book. Thankfully, as he was a fully fledged (if heavily underpurposed) angel, and only felt the tracers of the spell as it scrabbled along his massive reservoir of power.

Still, regardless of the compulsion charm, something was telling him that the book was of paramount importance.

Like what the human's call a "Gut Feeling".

Reaching forward, the angel snagged the small leather-bound notebook off the counter and scrutinized the cover. His brow furrowed, before he sent a small trickle of grace across the surface to clear off the dust and dirt that had gathered over the many years. His eyes narrowed as he took in the neatly embroidered font of a woman's handwriting, spelling out the words _"Property of Lily Evans Potter"._

Opening it up, he frowned as he was met with a page full of notes and quill scratches written in the same handwriting as the one on the cover. In the top left corner of the page, a neatly scrawled note recounted the date: _March 3rd, 1963_. Scanning the rest of the page, the angel quickly realized that he was holding was some kind of journal or a diary that the woman had kept notes in.

Frowning, he scrutinized the name written on the cover again: _Lilly Evans Potter._

Potter; Lilly Potter, Harry Potter.

The date read March 3rd, 1963. The dates matched up with a human life span. This must have been his mother's diary from when she was in school!

Flipping back to the first page, the angel's eyes widened as he spied several words at the top of the page, before immediately slamming the book shut, feeling very guilty all of a sudden.

These were not his secrets to be learning. He was getting too wrapped up in his role-playing.

He did not have a Mother.

He only had a Father.

He was not Harry Potter, Wizard of the Earth; he was Harry, Angel of the Lord.

He should not be trespassing on such sacred familial grounds.

Still…

Opening the book back up and glancing at the first page, he read and reread the small note that Lily had left far later in her life, when she knew that her time was near an end.

He may not be her son, but he could at least carry out her dying wish.

Closing the book again, he slid it into the bag as well, wrapping his grace around it several times to ensure it would not be damaged. With a final glance down at the goblin, he nodded, indicating that he was finished with his money-gathering. The goblin's face did not change, but the angel felt waves of satisfaction coming off the diminutive creature as it ushered him out of the vault.

The goblin may respect him because of his power, but that did not mean he _trusted_ the angel. Not at all. In fact, it was quite the opposite: while the goblins were appreciative of those who held power, they were incredibly suspicious of those whom they believed held _too much_ power. They were the troublesome ones. The ones to be watched.

And feared.

The angel decided that he should not linger here for too long.

It might not be beneficial for his health.

* * *

><p>Breathing in, the angel filled his lungs with the sweet, midday air of Diagon Alley, his overly-sensitized nostrils relishing the feeling of the arcane energies that swirled around the whole street, the residual magic playing lightly with his grace. Now that no one was bothering to look at him, the angel took the time to bring one of his wings forward and slide his fingers through the delicate flight feathers, fixing any that had been sent askew and pulling out ones that were causing him mild irritation.<p>

Like a bird, the angel continued to preen, pulling out at least a dozen feathers from both of his wings and leaving them right there in the street, not caring if anyone saw them. He was radiating small traces of notice-me-not energy so as to keep his already low presence to a minimum, ensuring that he remained hidden in plain sight.

It was easier than remaining invisible.

After he'd finally corrected the last of the troublesome feathers, he flared his wings, stretching them to their maximum length (an impressive twelve feet, quite large for an angel of his rank, but nowhere near as large as the monstrously huge wings of, say, a Power, whose wings could easily stretch miles into the air). His back arched with the wings to allow their full range of motion, and to anyone watching it would have been quite a strange sight: a small boy in bloody muggle clothing rolling his back like a cat surrounded by a small dusting of slate gray feathers.

Quite odd indeed.

But of course, no one did see him. And even if they did, they probably wouldn't have cared. This is the magical world: the unexplainable is a part of everyday life.

Pulling out the letter, the angel glanced down at the list of requirements that he would need as he made his way down the Alley, dodging through the throngs of people with all the social grace an amnesiac angel who has never seen a crowded street before in his life can muster (which is to say not very much).

Glancing down at his list, he stopped at a storefront that read: _Madame Malkin's Robes for all Occasions!_

The angel's eyes lit up. _'Looks like I just found my first stop!' _he thought, before opening the door and stepping inside.

Upon entering, the angel was immediately greeted by the sight of rows upon rows of clothing and fabrics. The angel had never seen so many different colors in one place before (angel wings normally only held three to five different colors at one time) and he certainly hadn't thought of putting them onto clothes.

Why did humans have to be so obsessive over what covered them? Back in the garden they were perfectly content walking around in the nude!

As the door swung closed behind him, a little chiming noise swept throughout the shop, signaling the arrival of a customer.

"Be with you in a second love!" came a woman's call, followed by a high pitched yelp of pain that sounded like a young boy. "I TOLD you, woman!" a snobbish, aristocratic voice called. "WATCH THOSE **_PINS!_**"

The sound of footsteps approaching reached Harry's sensitive ears, before finally a woman stepped around the corner, a large smile spread across her face.

Madame Malkin was a curious looking witch. Standing at a height of six foot five and pencil thin, she was taller than most of her customers. Her skin was a deep, Mediterranean tan, and she had long, rich black curls that framed her face and curled around her shoulder. An expensive looking purple shawl wrapped around her shoulders, trailing into a set of deep midnight black robes that covered her form beautifully.

The angel blinked at the woman's extravagant appearance, taken aback for a moment.

Madame Malkin's smile wavered as an awkward silence grew while the boy continued to stare at her with those alarmingly green eyes.

She blinked.

Good Lord! Those EYES! Oh, they were magnificent! They looked as if someone had managed to freeze the essence of floo fire and distil them into a person's eyes. The swirling vortexes of green were dampened slightly by the large round glasses he wore, but did nothing to detract from their beauty. Oh, if only she could craft a color green to match those! Oh it would be so beautiful!

Her eyes were drawn away from the boy's eyes as the angel's hand twitched slightly. She scowled as she spied the deplorable state of dress he was in, practically fuming at the threadbare muggle clothing that was covered in filth, tears, holes, and a small bit of blood.

It was the blood that disturbed he slightly, but long experience had taught her not to question her customers, no matter how curious they were.

"What's your name dearie?" she asked, her smile still on her face as she redirected her gaze back to the boy's gorgeous green eyes.

The angel's brow furrowed and his wing feathers bristled. That one question had caused him a lot of trouble today, and he was starting to become wary of it.

Would she react like the people in the bar and be ecstatic? Or would she be more along the lines of the goblins and instantly become suspicious?

Well, only one way to tell!

"My name is Harry, ma'am," he said, raising his hand to shake like the people in the bar had. "Harry Potter."

Madame Malkin froze, her jaw dropping to the floor in disbelief as her eyes bugged out. Her practiced poise of shopkeeper faltered as she was taken aback by the boy's answer. "Oh sweet Merlin!" she whispered in shock.

The angel cocked his head to the side as his highly sensitive ears picked up the words. _'Merlin? What an odd thing to swear to. Would not swearing to my Father be more beneficial?'_ he thought, before shaking the idle thoughts from his head as he redirected his focus on the task at hand.

"I am here for my Hogwarts robes," he said, holding up his letter.

Madame Malkin remained frozen.

What was wrong with her? Perhaps she is broken? Why is it that everyone always reacts so strangely to my name?!

Perhaps she won't assist me if I don't provide proof that I can…pay…for her services.

"I have money," he said helpfully, holding up his Gringotts bag in his other hand.

This seemed to work, as the shopkeeper finally unfroze with a start. Snapping her jaw shut, she puffed her chest up in pride. Harry Potter was in _her_ shop! _HERS! _Oh, if only her Mother could see her now!

"Oh, that won't be necessary, dearie!" she said, excitement tingeing her voice as she gestured for the angel to continue past her. "First time is always free!" she exclaimed, her smile almost splitting her face.

The angel's eyes narrowed. That was a lie. He could see that immediately.

A small thing to note about angels is that it is almost impossible to lie to one. Almost all angels and holy spirits, regardless of rank or power, have an uncanny knack for seeing into a person's soul. And just then, the angel had seen the witch's soul twitch in a way that had been characteristic of a lie.

No, there was no "free-first-time".

It was just for him.

Why was he being treated so special?!

He was very tempted to just read the information out of her brain, but he still remembered what had happened the last time he had done that (poor Phil; I hope he recovers soon. I really didn't mean to hit him that hard!)

Yes, it would be better to have the shopkeeper remain conscious and coherent. He could get his answers later.

And he would definitely work on improving his mind-scouring abilities (which for an angel is incredibly embarrassing).

Shaking the thoughts away again (By the Father he was having a hard time focusing!) he moved forward as the shopkeeper had gestured, passing by racks of richly colored clothing. Rounding a corner, they came upon a row of stools facing out into the other side of the alley. "Well it's about time you came back! You should know better than to keep me waiting!" the snobbish voice said again, and Harry's eyes were directed to a boy sitting on the last chair on the row.

Instantly, the angel's green eyes were locked with those of pure quicksilver, the other boy's sharp eyes instantly analyzing the newcomer. The angel stood stock still, held by the intensity of the mortal's gaze.

He took in the boy's countenance: blond, slicked back hair that stopped just above the nape of his neck greeted his eyes, along with a fair complexion that was close to being aristocratic. His entire body below his neck was covered in a deep black robes with pins sticking out all over the place, holding them in position. His quicksilver orbs were framed by long blond lashes, and the angel could see thin, plush lips that covered perfectly straight white teeth.

However, that is not all he saw. His gaze was not just skin deep.

His green eyes pierced through the physical façade, gaining a fiery fluorescent hue to them as they flared with his power. Peering through the skin and bone, he regarded the other's spiritual essence.

The boy's soul was moderately bright (but not as bright as Tom's) but with a surprising amount of darkness swirling around. The angel could make out a good degree of envy, pride, and greed in the darkness, but it was being mostly shut down by the boy's sheer power. And speaking of power, the angel could also see a strong magical core at work, pulsing with fine, silvery threads of magic that wove across the bright blue ball of the soul.

He noted with some interest that the boy's magical core was the same color as his eyes.

He was interesting, for a wizard.

He was also the first one he had seen that was approximately his age (or at least, the age of his vessel. The angel truly didn't know exactly how old he was, but it was safe to say that it was in the upper thousands).

The gaze was broken as the shopkeeper laid a hand on the angel's shoulder. "Right this way, dearie!" she said brightly, before steering him over to the seat right next to the blond and helping him up. The angel's wings flared in annoyance at having to be helped into the chair (I CAN DO IT MYSELF, WITCH!) before she draped a deep black robe over him that was identical to the blond boy's.

"Hello," the boy finally said, not taking his eyes off the angel's countenance. "Hogwarts, too?" he asked.

Harry nodded, shooting another sideways glance at the blond, gifting him with another hint of that fiery green.

The blond nodded imperiously, his pride beginning to bubble forth again. "My Father's next door buying my books and my mother's up the street looking at wands," he said, as if showing off how important he was.

Strange.

"Then I'm going to drag them off to look at racing brooms," he continued, his eyes flashing in excitement as images of sleek, expensive broomsticks flashed through his head. "I don't see why first years can't have their own! I think I'll bully father into getting me one and I'll smuggle it in somehow," he finished.

Harry's mind was reeling. Brooms? That was new. He didn't know what the boy meant about that, but he would definitely have to look into it. He also noted with interest that the book store was next door to this shop. He would head there next.

"Have _you _got your own broom?" the boy asked.

"No," the angel said, turning to look him fully in the face, and the blond boy's face stuttered for just a moment as he was met with that vivid green gaze again.

"Play Quidditch at all?" he continued after a moment, shaking the feeling off.

The angel's eyebrow twitched slightly, but otherwise betrayed no emotion. "No."

Quidditch? What's that? OH, **_Father! _**how I wish I could read minds without causing mental sickness. That would make this whole trip so much **_easier!_**

"_I _do," the blond continued, oblivious of the mental rant that had just taken place. "Father says it's a crime if I'm not picked to play for my house, and I must say, I agree. Know what house you'll be in yet?" he asked, an eyebrow rising slightly.

The angel shook his head, looking away from the blond as Madame Malkin went around to his other side and twisted his head gently so he was looking straight forward, breaking the intense gaze he had been scrutinizing the blond with.

"That's okay, no one really knows until they get there, do they?" the blond asked, not knowing that he had completely lost the angel. "But I know I'll be in Slytherin, all our family have been."

Suddenly, his nose wrinkled as an unpleasant thought crossed his mind. "Imagine being in Hufflepuff!" he said indignantly, his whole body shivering as if the mere idea repulsed him. "I think I'd leave if that were the case. Wouldn't you?" he asked, turning his head back to face the angel.

The angel shrugged, not having any idea what Slytherin or Hufflepuff meant. Before the blond had a chance to ask another question, however, the shopkeeper clapped her hands and removed the robes from Harry's body. "Alright dear, I think you're done!" she exclaimed happily, carrying the robes away from the two boys in such a way that you might think that they were the robes of Jesus Christ himself.

Harry hopped down from the stool and moved to leave, but was stopped by another few words from the blond. "It was pleasant meeting you, I hope we can talk again at Hogwarts. I'm Draco Malfoy, what's your name?" he asked, his silver eyes glinting expectantly.

The angel paused and turned to face him, a half formed smile on his face. Draco gasped as his eyes locked onto it, as it was the first expression he had seen the almost emotionless boy make. Green eyes glinted, before those chapped lips opened up to provide two simple words that would have the pureblood's world rocking for the rest of the day.

"Harry Potter"

And without another word, he left the shop, the door chime dinging behind him as he stepped out.

* * *

><p>True to his word, the angel did visit the book store first, wherein he glimpsed a taller man with long blond hair and an aristocratic face. Draco's Father. He had a much darker soul than his son, especially his magical core, which seemed to have been branded with some kind of dark magic that actually manifested onto the physical body.<p>

The angel of course had no idea what the Dark Mark was, nor what it meant. However, he still made sure to steer clear of the pureblood, not wanting to get close to his darkened soul.

The books in the shop _Flourish and Blotts_ were fantastic, filled to the brim with knowledge about this new world that he was surrounded in. He made a mental note to return here later after he had gathered his supplies and sent his owl.

He spent another two hours exploring the alley and gathering the required materials, learning as much as he could and observing human behavior. He learned through careful observation that sometimes people who were close would wrap their arms around each other and squeeze. This was called a _hug_.

However, it was very different from a _kiss,_ which was usually shared between mated couples or their offspring.

There also seemed to be a very strict difference between kissing on the mouth and kissing on the cheeks and forehead: kissing on the lips was reserved only for couples who intended to mate, whereas kisses anywhere else were usually done as an overt expression of affection, but were not explicitly sexual.

However, a hug and a kiss could sometimes be combined, as he observed two men doing in a back alley.

That was another oddity: in the wizarding world, it was just as common to see members of the same sex coupled up together as it was to see those of the heterosexual variant. It was strange, as mating usually required the consummation of a child to be successful, and this was impossible with members of the same sex. But then again, these were mages; they probably had a way around it.

Of course, angels didn't think of mating in such terms.

Angels did not have gender specification, but rather had a much freer definition of a mated couple. When two angels wished to couple, one angel would assume the dominant role, while the other assumed the submissive. This was usually determined by either rank, power, or (most often) size.

Likewise, angel courtship was very different from humans. While humans would attempt to woo their partners through acts of love and expressions of affection, angels who intended to mate would come together swiftly in a clash of power, each struggling to topple the other in a battle of dominance. The fight would end whenever one angel managed to pin the other down, wings included. The loser would then assume the submissive role, while the winner would assume a dominant one. Both partners would then place a mark upon the other's grace, claiming that angel as their own mate for the rest of their lives. It was one of the few acts of personal ownership angels were allowed, and a very sacred tradition among the angels.

Of course, no angelic offspring could be produced through such a union, as only Father could make them. Rather, holy spirits would be created through the coupling of the angels; pure celestial entities composed of energy formed from the combined grace of the two individual angels. They were beautiful spirits, often manifesting as forms of children, which led to the human concept of the Cupid.

Sadly, holy spirits did not last as long as their parents' and their life spans were usually only measured in centuries.

But, during their allotted time they would travel the world, invisible to the human eyes, receiving instructions from the Virtues in heaven and sewing goodness, order, and harmony wherever it was needed.

Thus, the union of angels in heaven served a vital purpose, just like everything Father designed. If he had not wished for such an event, then he would not have allowed for angels to copulate in the first place.

Harry paused in his thoughts as he examined his own grace. Had he been marked? Did he have a mate somewhere out there, pining away for him? Sending his consciousness swarming over himself, he found a faint impression near his right wing that might at one time have been a mating mark, but could just as easily have been a scar or a remnant from a battle long past.

_'So no luck there, I guess' _he thought.

Bringing his consciousness back to the surface, he stood up from the bench that he had been sitting on for the last two minutes while he had been observing the two men. Glancing up at the sun, he estimated that he had maybe about three hours before the sun went down. Plenty of time to finish off his last (but arguably his most important) item.

Ollivanders, purportedly the best wand store in the alley, and hopefully where he could purchase a wand. (Although how he could even hope to wield a wand was beyond him; most magical items seemed to be averse with his grace).

With a flutter of wings, he was standing before the doors to the establishment, his dark gray wings silhouetted for just a moment as they caught the afternoon sunlight. Drawing in a deep breath, he pushed the door open, not truly knowing what to expect on the other side.

A bell chimed as he stepped through the doorway, and dust wafted up from the ground as he stepped over the rickety floorboards. Looking around, the angel was stunned to see a magically enlarged store, filled with shelves twice as tall as a person, all practically stuffed with boxes. Instantly, wave after wave of arcane energy swept across his grace, sending shivers running up his spine and causing a cold tingle to settle in his stomach. His eyes swept back and forth across each of the shelves, and he knew from the faint humming of power that each of those boxes contained a wand.

He had no idea what use they would be for him, as he was an angel: he did not have a magical core with which to wield a wand.

Perhaps he should not have come here after all.

He was about to head back out the door when a sliding sound alerted him to the arrival of the shopkeeper. Spinning around, his bright green eyes instantly locked with owl-sized orbs of milky white. The angel paused at seeing these eyes: there was something not right about them.

The man before him was old, easily into his late seventies, early eighties, and was dressed in a somber pair of burgundy robes that seemed to match his shop perfectly. Two tufts of wiry white hair sat on top of his balding head, giving the impression of an oddly endearing unkemptness. The angel's keen eyes could make out the age spots that marked the old wandmaker's hands, and every crease and wrinkle in both his skin and his robes.

The wandmaker too admired the angel, though his own eyes did not seem to move very much. Slowly, a smile spread across his face, before he stepped down from the rolling ladder that he had been standing on. "Well well well," he said, his voice carrying throughout the eerily quiet shop and expressing the accumulated knowledge that all the years had granted this old man.

"And what is your name?" the old wizard asked. Harry sighed. He had been getting this a lot today.

Oh well, might as well observe _this_ one's reaction.

"My name is Harry Potter," he said confidently.

However, unlike all the rest of the people that he had encountered, Ollivander merely raised a single bushy white eyebrow, before a gentle smile spread across his face and his closed, his head shaking back and forth.

The angel cocked his head to the side in confusion. _'Well this is new,'_ he thought.

"My dear boy," the old man said, his gentile smile remaining on his face as he reopened his eyes. "You and I both know that that is not true," he said, his eyes twinkling knowingly.

The angel's eyes widened in shock, and his mouth parted in surprise in an uncharacteristic show of expression.

WHAT!?

"I want to know what your _real_ name is," the old wizard said, stepping forward and folding his hands behind his back as he regarded the angel, his gentle smile not leaving his face for even a moment.

"What do you mean?" the angel asked, his wings twitching nervously as he stared wide-eyed at the man.

Ollivander chuckled. "There is no use trying to pretend, little one. I can see the wings on your back just as clearly as I can see the heavenly light of your grace. I saw you coming from a long way off; you're one of the few things that I can still see."

That's when it hit the angel: humans didn't have that shade of milky white eyes naturally. The man before him was blind. Blind to everything but the color of people's souls as they come into his shop, and the light of his grace.

"I don't know my name," the angel answered, his gray wings flicking back in forth at the shock of what was transpiring. "That's the reason I'm here: to try to use magic to unlock the secrets of my past!" he said, his shock finally fading to be replaced by sheer fascination. "You can see my wings? Truly?" he asked, awe evident in his tone, a rare show of emotion pouring out from the angel.

The man smiled warmly again. "Yes," he replied.

"How did you come by such a miraculous gift?" the angel asked, his wings fluffing in excitement, sending their silhouette sliding across the ground.

The old wandmaker chuckled, before leaning back to rest against his desk, his head tilted back as he conjured up images in his head that he had long ago put to rest. "It was many years ago. I was still young at the time, and I had just opened my first wand shop in Munich, Germany. One of my first customers was a young girl by the name of Eva."

He smiled whistfully at the fond recollection he had of her.

"She spoke and acted much in the way you do now, and though I did not know it at the time, she was like you: a servant of god!" he exclaimed. However, his smile fell as he continued.

"I was eager to help her, and did not see the signs. An…accident, occurred, and she was flung from her vessel and into the wall. I couldn't stop myself from looking in time, and I saw her true form!"

His smile was once again back on his face.

"Oh, you angels are _so_ _beautiful_! She had fourteen great wings resting on her back, all the colors of the rainbow, and upon her head rested a wreath of light, her halo. And it was glorious. I looked for too long however, and my eyes were incapable of comprehending the rest of her. They were burned out by her radiance, and by the time she managed to reenter her vessel, I was long gone from this world."

Ollivander cocked his head to the side, as if a funny thought had just occurred to him. "I don't recall what it was like to be dead…I can only remember waking up moments later with her warm fingers pressed to my forehead. I could see nothing at all, and all was dark. She kept begging forgiveness from me, and she stroked my hair over and over again, pressing her grace to my face in an attempt to heal what had been lost. She did not succeed entirely, but she also gave me a wonderful gift!"

He spread his arms and looked back at the entranced angel before him, taking in the bright misty gray-white glow of his grace, the ring of light wrapped around his head (his halo) and his two main wings, along with the other, almost invisible ten lesser ones. "She gave me the ability to see the world as it truly is," he said rapturously, as if proclaiming the words of god. "I can see the souls of everyone around me, and the magic that works within the earth. It gave me so much more than what I had before, and I thanked her for it. Because of her, I am now the wandmaker you see before you today! I learned that her name was Evalindriel, and she had been sent to guide me through this life. She marked my soul, and returned to heaven. When I finally die, I know exactly where I'll go: I will find her, and I will thank her for all she has done for me. She has granted me a sight few mortals can ever hope to achieve, and I hope to one day repay her for it!"

He flung his arms out grandly, before taking a bow to the amazed angel. Green eyes stared transfixed at the man's own milky white, before in a symbolic show of respect, he lowered his wings to the wizard. This man's tale was truly extraordinary, and one worthy of the halls of Joshua.

He deserved his praise.

"That is truly an incredible tale, sir. I'm glad you decided to share it with me," the angel finally said, bringing a smile back to the old man's face.

"Indeed" he said, turning away from the angel to walk around behind the desk. "But I would rather not have that same accident repeat itself, so if you would please follow me, I have something to show you," he said cryptically.

Nodding, the angel moved around the desk as well and stood before the man, who was leaning against a shelf full of wand boxes. "Watch this!" he whispered conspiratorially, before reaching a hand out and pulling one of the wand boxes. The angel's sharp ears picked up a *click* resound from within the shelf, and with a creek, the whole wall swung inward to reveal a secret workshop.

The angel's eyes widened as he took in piles of unfinished wands; some almost done and in the process of being completed, others barely started and still in the original shape of the branch from which it was cut. Open spell books lay everywhere on tabletops, and a fine layer of sawdust hung in the air, tickling the angel's nose and wings.

Ollivander moved to the back of the workshop, a spring in his step that the angel had not noticed before. Bending down and removing a few tarps, the old wandmaker's shaky hands closed around a long, rectangular box that had been resting on the ground. Picking it up, the wizard carried it back over to the angel, whereupon he presented it like a squire would present a sword to a knight.

The angel noticed immediately that on the front of the box, an Enochian symbol had been printed in bright white paint. His eyes widened slightly, before looking back up at the wandmaker in confusion.

"I don't understand," the angel said.

Ollivander chuckled softly, before leaning down to peer more closely at the angel's bright green eyes. "After I parted ways with Evalindriel, I made it my life mission to find out as much as I could about her kind. Among my many projects, this was one such result: a wand that has no core, but instead acts as a focuser for an energy source, like an angel's grace, to better interact with the world like we would. It is not driven by any arcane energies, and therefore should be acceptable for the divine to use," Ollivander explained, before once again thrusting the box towards the angel.

Harry tentatively accepted the gift, before opening it up with one hand. His eyes fell upon a rod of wood that was covered from tip to base in symbols of all kinds, ranging from arcane to pagan, and from angelic to demonic. Reaching in, he grasped the handle of the wand, and immediately felt his grace surge as it connected with the focuser. His wings flapped behind him, sending billows of sawdust swirling around in the air. His eyes glowed white for a brief moment, before his grace exploded outward, lighting up everything in the shop as it fully connected with the wand.

For a full ten seconds the angel's body shone with the light of his grace, before it all began to swirl and funnel into the wand he was holding. The light began to fade, before finally diminishing to a warm glow that surrounded the angel's body.

Holding up the wand, the angel's green eyes widened in amazement, before with a flick of his hand, a spark of electricity jumped out of the wand tip and struck the ceiling, sending a jolt throughout the whole shop.

"Oh, yes! OH YES! _It works! It works!_ **_HOORAY!"_** Ollivander shouted as he clapped his hands in glee. Throwing his hands in the air, the old man proceeded to jump up and start dancing happily around the workshop.

Hop-skip here, jump there. Pirouette, and *land!*

A small smile spread across the angel's face as he set the box down carefully, admiring the old man's footwork. "I'm impressed," the angel said, referring to both the wand and the wizard's dancing ability.

"Not bad for a eighty year old blind man, eh?" Ollivander asked, spinning about in place one more time before coming to rest before the angel, a wide smile spread across his face.

"I had always hoped that it would work, but obviously I had no one to test it on! Thank you so much for helping me with it!" he cried, grabbing the angel's hand and pumping it up and down vigorously. For the first time since he could remember, a full smile spread across the angel's face, his eyes dancing with the infectious joy that the old wizard practically radiated. "And thank you for helping me with such an important problem!" he responded, and the man's grin kicked it up a notch. "You're very welcome!" he said.

Stepping back, the wizard pulled himself up to his full height and stared down at the angel with his large milky white eyes. "Now, there are a few things I must tell you. The first is that this wand is not a toy, it is a tool. As long as you have faith in it, then it will not fail you."

Ollivander looked meaningfully at the angel, and the celestial, feeling that it was appropriate, bobbed his head in a nod. Ollivander *hrmphed* at the angel's quick acknowledgement, before continuing. "The second is that while the wand may work for you now, that does not guarantee that it will work in the future. People grow and change, and even though you are not a person, I suspect that your grace will be pushed past its current limits, so when it does grow, please don't hesitate to visit me. I'll be happy to help in any way I can!" he said, a congenial smile spreading across his face.

The angel nodded again, before holding the wand up to his face.

How was he to store it? Perhaps in his pocket? No, the length is too long, he'd probably break it.

Suddenly, a thought crossed his mind, and with a flick of his hand, the wand slid up his sleeve and into his grace. "It's like an angel blade!" he exclaimed, flicking the wand in and out a few times, before sliding it back into its sheath. Looking up, the angel appraised Ollivander with his marvelously green eyes. "I cannot thank you enough for this, sir!"

He held out his entire money bag to the old man, but the old man merely pushed it away, a small chuckle resonating from his lips. "Conversing with one of your species was payment in and of itself, my friend. I don't need anything more from you. In fact, you have put to rest many lingering doubts that I had about myself just by gracing me with your presence."

Clapping his hands together, he guided the angel out of his workshop, the secret doorway sliding shut as they passed back into the main shop.

"May I ask one favor, though?" Ollivander asked as he stepped away from the angel, the celestial already flaring his gray wings in preparation for flight.

The angel paused and glanced back towards the wandmaker. "Sir?"

The old man's eyes twinkled, and a mischievous grin played across his face. "Try not to visit me _too_ soon. I don't want to hear that you've had an accident and ruined my creation!" he said, his wry grin dazzling the angel as he wrung his hands together.

A half smile flickered across the angel's face. "Of course not sir." he said.

And then, with a *woosh* of air, he brought his magnificent wings down and flew off, winging away from the wand shop.

Ollivander sighed, his wistful grin still on his face as he stared at where the angel had just been standing. "Oh, the fate of the young," he said, shaking his wizened old head, before glancing up at the ceiling, his milky white eyes not seeing the wooden planks of his shop, but rather peering through it to see the wide expanse of stars that lay above them, shining with infinite brightness.

"Go forth, in all your beliefs; and prove to me that I am not mistaken in mine!" he quoted, before turning away from the scene and disappearing back into the shadows of his shop, seeming almost to be swallowed by the store that he had made his own.

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><p><strong>That last quote was by William Hartnell, the first Doctor, and one of the greatest television personas ever to grace the small screen.<strong>

**Thank you all for sticking with me so far. Remember, I'll try to update every weekend, so stay tuned for each installment. I'm sorry I didn't have room to write in the Hogwarts Express, but we'll get to that in the next chapter. **

**Besides, a very special visitor is going to be making himself known on the train, so stay tuned.**

**Rate and Review- **Arudon

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	5. Clouds

**Hello Everybody! I'm back with another fun chapter!**

**I would like to take the time to answer a few questions that have been posed in the reviews, so if you'd like to read this part, go right ahead. Here we go.**

**Ahem:**

**To the Guest Reviewer Word Choice: Thank you for pointing that out. I have corrected the mistake. Imbued is definitely what I meant. It would be rather odd of the angel was drinking the blood. Ha!**

**To Please Read My Stuff: The question of the soul fragment is going to be answered in this chapter, so stay tuned!**

**To the Anti-Drarry Guest Reviewer: I copied the conversation between Draco and Harry almost word-for-word from the book, and I'm fairly sure that JK Rowling does not support Drarry (interesting as that would be). I don't see the problem with his words then.**

**To Superanonymouscarrots: It's good to hear from you again. And yes, Ollivander _can_ dance on point. Though we can't ask him to do it often, he is eighty years old after all!**

**And finally, to the Guest Reveiwer who commented on both this story and HEAVEN'S CHILD: While the angel has "assumed" the identity of Harry Potter, that does not make him Harry. He is merely in disguise, using the name Harry Potter as a front in his search for his _real _name. Also, no. He is not a Dragon-angel crossbreed. When God made angels in their true forms, they came in all different shapes and sizes, as you will see later in this chapter. Every angel bears some resemblance to animals, be it through their body shape or their heads. The primary angel in this story therefore has a true form that has the shape of a dragon, but his tail and scales do not transfer over to his human body. Only his wings and halo are able to manifest on his body, and even then they are still invisible to humans. I hope that clears up some confusion. He will also be regaining his memory in stages, but his name will not be coming to him for a very long time, so stay tuned. Also, thank you for the compliment, I try to write with as good a description as I can, and looking back at my older stories I can definitely see a marked improvement in my writing ability. **

**Alright, that about sums it up. Harry Potter does not belong to me, and neither does Supernatural. So with that said, let's continue our story of the gray winged angel.**

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><p>The angel let out a sigh as he sat atop the rooftop of Gringotts, staring out over the darkened streets of Diagon Alley as the moon sank lower in the distance behind him. He had been sitting here for hours, waiting for anything interesting (<strong><em>anything at all!<em>**) to happen. But alas, it was not to be.

After a long period of time observing the humans, the angel had gathered that every time this curious darkness descended upon the world, all the humans would cease whatever activities they happened to be doing and retire to their homes. All the lights would dim inside the shop windows (except for bars) and the streets would empty. Normally, the only people who would be moving about seemed to be under the oddest of spells: usually they would be singing and swaying unsteadily on their feet, or would be roaring about the economy, relatives, or something equally unfamiliar to the angel. It was quite a strange spell, and the angel had no idea what it meant.

(Translation: he doesn't know what alcohol is, or its curious affects on the fragile human psyche).

Meanwhile the street lamps that hung along the sides of the alley would come to life, the flames sputtering magically in their casings and casting a blue light over the entire street, creating a peaceful setting for the whole area that the angel found he quite liked.

He was shaken from his musings as a flutter of wings reached his ears, and upon looking up his eyes brightened as he spied a snowy owl winging her way towards him.

"Hedwig!" he called out, and the owl's golden eyes immediately swiveled towards his resting place atop the dome of the bank. Tilting her wings, the pure white owl banked her way towards him, an eager hooting reaching the angel's amused ears. Stretching out his arm, he looked on with unblinking eyes as his feathery friend alighted on the appendage, her talons gripping the stone-like flesh with an easy trust that had developed between the two over the months.

She hooted a greeting, her warm golden eyes blinking once or twice, before she leaned in and pecked him lightly on the cheek.

A half-smile flickered across the angel's face, and he raised his other hand to stroke the owl's head, eliciting deep rumbles of approval from the owl, who closed her eyes in contentment.

In a rare show of emotion, a full smile formed onto the angel's face as he regarded the owl, recalling the events that had led to her introduction into his life.

The following morning after he had purchased his supplies, he had wandered into the Magical Menagerie in search of the final thing listed on his Hogwarts Letter: a pet.

Granted, he didn't know exactly what owning a pet would entail, but if he were to assume a human identity, it would be useful to have one in order to keep up the façade.

He had been expecting the animals to react like dumb sheep.

Oh how wrong he was!

Hedwig had immediately caught his attention from the moment he had walked through the doors. Her white feathers had instantly separated her from the rest of the rabble, but it had been her eyes that had caught his focus. Her large golden eyes had gazed at him with such intelligence that he had pondered for a moment if this was even a real animal or some new variant of a skinwalker. However, after a brief glance at her soul, he had confirmed that she was indeed an animal, and not a monster like he had suspected.

His thoughts were interrupted as she nipped at his wings playfully, her beak catching onto one of the long flight feathers and almost tugging it out. He winced at the shot of pain that raced down the appendage, before raising a scolding finger to the bird in admonishment. Hedwig looked unabashed at the angel's gesture, but nevertheless nibbled gently at the outstretched digit in her own method of apology.

He flicked his wings back, once again reminded how she, like Ollivander, was one of the few beings in this world that could see his wings.

That single revelation right there had been the indicator that Hedwig would be like no other animal he would ever meet.

Back when he had first met her in the pet store, her eyes had only stayed on his face for a moment before they had traveled towards the great gray appendages hanging gracefully of his back. She had admired them for a moment, her head cocking in confusion, before turning back to stare directly into the angel's green eyes and hooting in question.

As if to say "What are you?"

After a brief moment of deliberation, the angel had decided to purchase the owl right then, and had left the shop with his new companion hanging easily in a cage by his side, leaving behind an astonished clerk standing there with a handful of galleons and his feet bolted to the floor, not quite sure how a young boy like that had managed to walk off with one of the most notoriously vicious owls the shop had ever seen.

Over the next few days, Harry had taken the owl everywhere with him, learning her habits, her likes and dislikes, trying to divine the meaning behind her intelligence. In time, he came to understand that she too was studying him, trying to figure out why he had avian wings instead of a normal human back.

Then had come the difficult task of naming the owl.

She was very particular with what she allowed him to call her, and the reaction to the names would range from a disapproving hoot to a full out screech and attack with claws, wings, and beak.

Harry had learned to respect those talons, as evidenced by the state of his clothes after the week. He had gone by Madame Malkin's shop to see if there were any clothes his size, and had walked away from the encounter with a pile of robes taller than he was and know idea what to do with them.

That aside, Harry had eventually settled on the name of Hedwig, after realizing that the owl's feather colors exactly matched the ridiculous white toupees that he had seen on some traveling French wizards that had been passing through the alleyway at the time.

Although Hedwig hadn't been too fond of the name at first, she had warmed up to it after a few minutes, and before a day had passed she would only respond to that name alone.

It had been another week before the angel had given the newly christened Hedwig her first assignment: delivering his Hogwarts reply letter. After penciling in his decision to attend on some parchment that he had…liberated (stolen) from the Gringotts goblins, he had presented the letter to her after an awkward folding session.

"Please deliver this to Hogwarts," he had said, before a frown crossed his face. "I don't know exactly how you'll find it, but the clerk assured me that you'd know. Good luck, my friend!"

Hedwig had puffed up in indignation. Stupid angel! Of course she could find it! She was descended from a long and illustrious line of mail owls dating all the way back to seventeenth century! Her great-great-great-great grandfather had delivered the letters of King Louis XIV, the Sun King, himself (one of the most influential rulers of the time and builder of the Palace of Versailles).

Mail delivering was in her blood!

After a quick nip to the boy's cheek that expressed both her annoyance and her affection, she had snatched the letter up and winged away with the parchment in her beak, her inherent magic already searching for the destination described to her.

That was two months ago.

Now here they were, sitting on top of the Gringotts building at five o clock in the morning on September 1st, the day that the angel was to go to Hogwarts. Nibbling his ear, she cooed and rubbed her head under his chin, enjoying how his hand reflexively raised to scratch the nape of her neck while he continued to stare off into space, lost in thought.

Her angel did that quite often. Revelation, he called it: a type of meditation that all angels could enter, where they could hear the voice of heaven and center themselves.

Seemed like a perfectly good waste of time to the owl, though.

With a final peck, she took off with a flutter of white wings, sailing away to go find a rat to feed on while the horizon grew steadily lighter.

The angel sighed absently as his bright green eyes moved to watch his feathered friend wing away into the distance. He was appreciative of her companionship, but after two months of isolation he was beginning to long for the company of other angels. He truly missed the resounding voices that would play off the halls of heaven, and the bright light that sang with the joy of his Father.

His eyes were drawn back into the distance as the sun finally peaked over the edge of the horizon, sending rays of brilliant light streaming through the still morning air, highlighting everything in beautiful hues of gold, red, and purple.

It was like staring at something from out of a dream.

'No,' he thought.

Heaven was nice, but it was nothing compared to his Father's ultimate creation. The humans may not think it, but Earth was the real paradise, not Heaven.

His wings flexed to their full length to catch the rays of the steadily rising sun, sending their shadows soaring miles across the surrounding buildings behind him, startling several early risers as they made their way out onto the street.

With an intake of breath, the angel steadied his nerves and squeezed his fists together tightly.

Today was the day that would change everything.

Today, he would truly enter the wizarding society.

"Geronimo," he said quietly, before bringing his wings down in a *swoosh* and lifting off.

* * *

><p>The angel looked around in confusion and awe as he pushed his cart forward through the crowds of Kings Cross Station. Hedwig hooted in annoyance as she was bumped <em>yet again <em>by a careless muggle, her cage rattling as it threatened to fall off the pile of books and trunks that contained the materials needed for Hogwarts.

The train station was loud, dirty, and absolutely packed full of noisy, smelly people, all running around trying to catch their trains on time, not even giving a second thought to the ones that got in their way.

To an owl, who's species were used to isolation and wide open spaces, it was the absolute definition of insanity.

Harry flared his wings as he too scowled at the retreating figure. Sometimes he cursed himself for his lack of presence: his small stature made him easy to overlook, which was certainly not very beneficial in the middle of a large crowd.

He truly wished that he could flare his wings and throw everyone out of his way, but he really didn't think that was a good idea. He was trying to be discrete, after all.

And why the hell hadn't those bloody mages put directions on how to get into Platform 9 and ¾ into the letter, for Father's sake. He had only known that that was way to get to Hogwarts by asking Tom the barman, who had been kind enough to explain the whole procedure to the angel.

Now all that was left was to find the Father-forsaken place.

Coming to a stop, the angel looked with growing irritation between the two glowing circles that denoted platforms nine and ten. There was absolutely nothing to denote a magical entrance of any kind.

No sign of anything magical in general. Just a bunch of normal humans, milling about in a huge crowd that seemed to be moving way too fast.

Perhaps the barman had lied?

The angel shook his head immediately, his brow furrowing at his own ridiculous thoughts.

Tom would never do something like that: there was too much gentleness in his heart for him to knowingly mislead a child (even if that child was not really a child at all, but instead a ten thousand year old angel _masquerading_ as a child).

Regardless, he would never do anything of that nature! He was simply too kind.

But that didn't cancel out the fact that he had absolutely no idea how to get on the train!

For Father's sake, WHY did I not think to ask for directions! Oh, Harry, you really are a Zo'Prakata*! Forgetting something like that is just inexcusable!

Looking up at the glowing circle that denoted the platform as number ten, the angel leveled a malevolent stare, causing it to flicker eerily.

If only he could force the entrance to manifest itself! That would make it so much easier!

"…Packed with Muggles, of course!" a woman from across the platform suddenly said, interrupting the angel's mental rant. Looking away from the sign, his bright green eyes landed on a curious sight: a small clan of redheads making their way across the platform, all dressed in horrible different sets of muggle clothing that were completely mismatched, as if they had only ever read about muggle clothing, and never actually worn any. "Platform 9 and ¾'s this way!" the woman called again, and Harry's eyes narrowed.

"Muggles?" he murmured, before his eyes began to glow, indicating he had switched on his angel vision. Instantly, all the colors around him seemed to fade just slightly, and the humans' souls rapidly appeared before him in a plethora of glowing blue energy.

Narrowing his eyes, he peered at the family of red heads.

Yep!

Sure enough, each one of their souls were spider-webbed with glowing lines of magic, each color unique and different from the others, and all at varying levels of strength.

They were mages alright.

His eyes dimmed slightly, still not losing their radiance, but no longer the same 'holy-shit-that-kid's-eyes-are-on-fire!' intensity that they assumed whenever he went full god-mode.

Watching from beside a column, he looked on as the woman motioned for one of her offspring to step forward. "Percy, you first!" he heard her say.

The red-headed boy nodded, before pushing his cart forward heavily and taking off at a sprint, running straight towards the wall.

Wait…WHAT!

Harry looked on in shock as the boy raced forward. What was the human thinking?! That was a SOLID! BRICK! WALL! An angel might not be fazed by such an obstacle, but humans certainly should be!

The angel's wings flared in preparation to fly, and he revved his grace, ready to stop the boy before he met his terrible demise as a smear on the wall.

However, he was just a tad too slow, and right as he was about to bring his wings down, the boy slipped _into_ the pillar and disappeared from sight.

The angel blinked.

_What?_

His wings dropped down from their raised position, the shadows they had been casting on the ground disappearing from sight as he folded them tightly against his back.

This is new.

_'I didn't mages could do that!'_ he thought, his head tilting in curiosity. _'I mean, I know that demons, reapers, and spirits can. Ghosts certainly. But mages?!'_

No, it can't be that simple. Otherwise Tom wouldn't have wasted all that time at the entrance of Diagon Alley. '_There has to be more to it than just_ "Mages can walk through walls"_.'_

Better observe for a little longer first.

The angel's hands wrapped loosely around the handle of his cart as he watched the next two wizards step up. His eyes narrowed as he recognized the forms of two boys, both of whom looked practically identical to each other.

Interesting! He remembered the news lady had mentioned these types of people. They were called _twins, _and were usually identical in both appearances and thought processes.

It was a completely human concept, though. In heaven, no two angels (with the exception of the Gemini twins) were ever exactly alike. Father just didn't like making anything the same. Once an angel was made, it would stay unique forever, its grace irreplaceable and beholden only to itself.

Just as their sibling had done before them, the two twins ran forwards, pushing their own carts through the barrier. The angel's expression did not change, but his lips tightened slightly.

How were they doing this?

Deciding that sitting and watching was not going to get him anywhere, he moved out of the shadows, approaching the woman silently.

"Excuse me Ma'am?" he said quietly, causing the distracted woman to jump in surprise. Spinning around, the woman looked about in confusion, trying to locate where the voice had come from. A twitch of movement brought her attention downwards, where she locked eyes with a startlingly vibrant pair of green eyes.

"Oh my!" she gasped, her hand snapping to her chest in a reflexive move of surprise. She had not heard the boy approach, nor even noticed his presence until he had spoken up. However, as her blue eyes met the boy's green, her surprise abated and gave way to curiosity. A small smile spread on her face, and she bent down to better look at the small boy. "What is it dearie?" she asked sweetly.

The angel did not return her smile, but merely gestured to the brick wall. "How are you doing that?" he asked, his green eyes shining with confusion as they stared unblinkingly upwards from behind the lenses of his glasses.

The woman blinked, her eyes flicking between the barrier and the angel. "Oh, are you asking how to get onto the platform?" she asked.

The angel's head bobbed up and down in affirmation.

The woman smiled kindly before patting the boy's shoulder. "It's alright dearie, it's Ron's first time to Hogwarts as well," she said, gesturing to another redhead who appeared to be the same age as Harry (that's Harry the _vessel_, not Harry the _angel_).

Turning the angel's body gently, the woman pointed towards the imposing brick wall. "Now, don't be frightened dear, it's quite simple really," she said.

The angel mentally scoffed. Why did people always assume that he was frightened? He was an _angel. _Nothing scared him.

"All you need to do is walk straight at the wall, and before you know it you'll be on the platform!" she explained.

The angel's eyebrows furrowed slightly, his curiosity now melting into confusion. "How?" he asked, cocking his head slightly.

The woman's smile dropped, a puzzled expression taking its place. How did it work? She had never given any thought to it before! "Oh, I'm not quite sure dearie," she answered simply, patting the angel's head in what she hoped was a reassuring manner. "I've never quite understood it myself, but I'm sure its quite safe. Nothing to worry your pretty little head over!"

The angel's wings flared for a moment in a gesture of frustration. Well wasn't that just typical?! Stupid air-headed mages; how could you trust something if you don't even know how it works?

Pulling his head away from the woman's hand, he strode back to his cart and grabbed ahold of it. Hedwig hooted in question as he pushed the trolley forward until he was right in front of the barrier.

Well, it was either brave the unknown, or give up on his crazy plan. It took only a second for him to make up his mind: he had come too far to give up now!

Looking back at the wall, his wings fluffed in trepidation.

_'This has got to be the stupidest thing I've done so far'_ he thought, before letting out a breath that he had been holding.

With a flap of his wings, he took off towards the barrier, pushing his cart faster and faster, ignoring both Hedwig's screeches and the fact that the wall didn't look any less imposing than before.

He closed his eyes as the end of his trolley reached the brick wall, expecting the cart to go flying off to the side or crumple up into a tiny ball due to his momentum (he was moving much faster than any of the humans had, and due to his angelic power, his body would not give an inch if he were to collide with something, including brick walls and trolley cars).

However, rather than the expected impact, he instead felt the curious sensation of rushing of air around him. Opening his eyes, he could see that he had been engulfed in some sort of darkness, the light of the train station vanishing as he continued to move forward. He could feel the tickling of magic brush up against his grace, indicating that some sort of transportation spell was trying to affect him. He allowed it to pick him up and move him, if only to get out of this imposing blackness. His eyes widened slightly as the spell took ahold, and there before him was a spot of light that rapidly grew larger. With a final swish of magic, the spell released him, and he stepped out onto the opposite side.

Bright light hit his face, and the angel squinted in reaction to it, his pupils contracting rapidly after being so hastily thrust out of the darkness they had just adjusted to.

As soon as he could, he looked forward, and was met with a sight that almost stopped his heart.

Before him, not ten feet away, was a creature that he could only describe as a scarlet metal monster.

It was twenty feet long, with a long, circular tube composing the majority of the body. Hitched to the back of the tube was a small black box, where a mage was shoveling magical coal into a glowing furnace that practically radiated heat.

The angel shuddered as he saw that the entire structure was painted blood red, and to top it all off: there was steam pouring out from several orifices all over the engine, making it appear like some monster from hell.

And that was the angel's first impression of the Hogwarts Express.

Glancing away from the monster, his eyes drifted up to a glowing circular sign that was hanging from the wall just above his head.

_Platform 9 ¾ _it read.

Looking back down, the angel looked between the scarlet beast and Hedwig, his eyes wide and pleading, as if to say 'Do I _have _to go on that thing?'

Hedwig blinked back at him, before giving a reassuring hoot and fluff of her wings, which was owl speak for, "I don't like it anymore than you do, but I'll be right here when you need me."

The angel was never more appreciative for his little white friend than he was at that moment.

Steeling his nerves, he pushed his cart forward, determined in his mind that he was heading either towards a new future or into the jaws of certain doom.

* * *

><p>The angel sat quietly in his compartment, Hedwig out of her cage and sitting comfortably on his lap, enjoying the soft caresses he was bestowing upon her.<p>

It had been touch and go for a while on what he was supposed to do once he got close to the train. He had been buffeted a few times by the waves of the large crowd that had gathered around the train, mostly composed of parents wishing to see their children one last time before they left for the long journey to Hogwarts. Harry had eventually grown tired of the constant flux of the crowd and resorted to using his telekinesis to subtly push people out of his way, clearing a path to one of the carriages.

There he had been faced with the curiosity of watching people shoving their luggage underneath the train, not being overly considerate of the luggage they happened to push out of the way. The angel, after several failed attempts, eventually managed to succeed in securing a place for his own trunk beneath the train cart, and had finally boarded the carriage itself.

He hoped he never had to do something like that again.

He had been lucky enough to find an empty compartment, which he had quickly secured. It was now radiating notice-me-not energy so as to keep any unwanted visitors away from him, ensuring that his peace would not be disturbed.

What? An angel needs his solitude!

As the clock struck eleven, the angel felt the train give a lurch as the brakes unlocked.

*CHUG* *CHUG* *CHUG* *CHUG*

Harry's head cocked to the side as the train began to move forward, the engine making a most curious chugging sound as the magical engine devoured the enhanced coal that the engineer was feeding it. Steam floated past the window, practically loaded with arcane energy, and the angel pressed his face against the window to stare out as the crowd moved by him, all waving after their children. His wings flared out in wonder as the train started to pick up the pace, moving faster and faster until they finally broke away from the station. Hedwig hooted out a single, questioning note to the angel, her bright yellow eyes peering into his own vibrant green.

A warm half smile formed on the angel's face, and he lifted a hand to scratch at the nape of the owl's neck. "That's right my friend!" he said happily. "We're on our way!"

"I'll say you are," a voice came from the opposite of the compartment, and the angel jumped violently in surprise while Hedwig gave out an affronted screech.

Moving with supernatural speed and grace, the angel quickly righted himself and flicked his wings into an offensive stance, his skin glowing with grace in preparation for an attack. His glowing green eyes flicked back and forth in search of the intruder, before finally landing on the lax form of a man sitting across from him.

His eyes widened.

On the opposite side of the compartment from him, in the seat nearest to the door, a man was sprawled, seemingly without a care in the world. He had one arm draped over the back of the chair next to him and his feet were kicked up to rest carelessly on the opposite two chairs. In his left hand, a pink and brown swirled lollipop rested carelessly, which he casually raised to his face and licked as he ran his golden eyes up and down the angel's form. Long blond hair draped down the back of his head, stopping just before the shoulders.

"Hi!" he said, his voice bright and dripping with playfulness.

The angel's palms began to glow, ready to smite the foolish mortal.

The man smirked as he saw the reaction his sudden appearance had caused. "Relax, featherhead. I'm not here to fight" he said calmly, drawing another long lick from his candy.

The angel did not relax. Instead, he did the opposite and flared his grace even brighter, his eyes now glowing green as they were highlighted by the divine fire burning behind them. "Who are you?" he growled, his wings flapping once in aggression as they bristled with power. The man paused in his licking as he saw this, his eyes narrowing slightly, before he slowly raised both his hands upwards in a symbol of surrender.

"Hey, hey, take a chill pill, green eyes. I promise you I'm not here to cause any trouble!" he said quickly, his honey golden eyes flicking back and forth between the angel's glowing green eyes and his curiously gray wings.

The angel only responded in a growl. "Answer my question!" he spat

It was clear the angel wasn't going to be satisfied unless he gave some sort of identity to him.

"You can call me the Trickster" the man said, hoping that this would calm the angel.

It worked.

The angel paused, his head cocking to the side. But his mind was wirling in confusion. He knew Tricksters, had seen a few running around Diagon Alley in his two months of freedom. He'd even smote one!

This man did not look like a Trickster.

Tricksters were normally composed of swirling gray and red energy, full of maliciousness and taking pleasure in the suffering of others. However, instead of these colors, the man's energy was instead glowing a golden-white color. That was _not_ normal for a Trickster, and if the angel were to take a guess, he would actually say it looked more like grace.

Looking behind the man, the angel let out a gasp.

With his supernaturally enhanced sight, he could make out the bare outline of six wings draping off the man's back.

Suddenly, the angel's grace plummeted and reeled, sending him toppling to the floor as a wave of nausea overcame him. The Fake-Trickster stood up, surprised by the angel's tumble. "Hey, are you alright?" he asked.

The angel looked up from the floor, his eyes once again spotting another brief impression of the unknown angel's wings, and he was instantly hit with another wave of nausea. "What's…happening…to me?" the angel grit out, his wings flaring in distress, before his vision went black.

Everything was suddenly calm. It was all quiet.

Blackness engulfed his vision. He could see nothing.

Then, up ahead, the angel could see a small light sputter into existence, small and flickering. However, as he continued to watch it, the light grew brighter and brighter, until it filled his vision. The light slammed into his consciousness, and before he knew it, he was seeing heaven.

'_A vision' _he thought.

* * *

><p><em>He was back in his true form, his draconic body sprinting across the Fields of Elysium, the open plains of heaven, chasing after a golden colored angel in front of him. He felt his chest rumble as he let out a laugh at the other's acrobatics as they flipped and tumbled across the open space, the luscious grass practically massaging his feet as he ran over it in his swift-paced pursuit.<em>

_The angel he was chasing was of a curious shape: he was only slightly larger than his own draconic form, and had the body of a Lion with a burning golden tail. Literally. The tip of the tail was nothing but a bright golden flame that left a trail of golden light everywhere he went. The angel had a massive conglomeration of wings set upon his back, all different colors of the rainbow, but predominantly golden, like the rest of his body. _

_Four different faces sat upon the angel's head: a fox facing left, an eagle facing right, a gazelle facing back (giving him the impression of having forward facing horns), and finally, facing forwards, was a face that matched the gray winged angel's own primary face: a flat blank slate with two golden glowing eyes peering out from it. Only, unlike the green-eyed angel's face plate, this angel had glowing golden threads wreathing around it, like a lion's mane._

_However, it was his Halo that set him apart from the other angels._

_It was massive: seven rings of glowing white energy composed entirely of Enochian symbols, all denoting phrases like **power, grace, **and **energy. **However, one phrase was repeated over and over in the halo: **Herald of God. **_

_It denoted the angel before him as one of the most powerful in heaven: an archangel._

_"Gabriel, slow down!" the green-eyed angel called after his older brother as he ran after him. He felt the archangel's rumbling laughter roll across the grounds as he sprang away from the dragon, reeling with power and playful energy. "Not a chance, little brother!" Gabriel called back, his wings (all two hundred and fifty of them) flicking in amusement as he continued to sprint away from him. The draconic angel let out a growl of irritation._

_'How dare he toy with me like this?' the nameless angel thought, before hurling himself after the lion-like angel, quickly closing the gap between them. _

_"RAAAAAAR!" he cried as he flung himself through the air, his paws outstretched as he launched himself towards the archangel with as much energy as he could muster._

_He should have known better than to underestimate the youngest archangel._

_The lion stopped in his tracks, allowing the draconic angel to sail harmlessly over his head, surprise evident in the angel's two animalistic heads, before the dragon crashed into the ground in an undignified heap of scales and feathers. 'Ow!' he thought, before a sudden contraction of the air warned him that the prankster angel still had a few tricks up his sleeve._

_"Banzai!" Gabriel cried as he pounced on the dragon, sending both of them rolling down a hill that had decided to form. (The plains of heaven are in a constant state of flux: sometimes they're flat as a board, and other times they're practically covered in hills and mountains. It made rough housing on them quite an interesting activity, as the constantly shifting landscape made it very easy for angels to turn the tides on they're playmates.)_

_The green-eyed angel fought tooth and claw all the way down the hill, his wings buffeting those of Gabriel's own golden ones, and his playful growl rolling out of his chest to mix with Gabriel's own roaring laughter. However, strong as he was, the green-eyed angel was no match for the archangel's sheer force of power, and by the time they had reached the bottom of the hill Gabriel had the dragon pinned on his back, his four paws, wings, and tail all being locked down by the larger golden lion._

_The draconic angel growled again, struggling against the feline paws that held him down, and he could feel the other angel's smirk growing as his lion-like laughter once again rolled out from his chest. "Pinned ya!" he said mischievously, his voice conveying nothing but playful happiness, along with a good helping of smugness._

_If the nameless angel could have rolled his eyes, he certainly would have. "Get off me!" he spat, his tail lashing furiously as he struggled against the larger angel._

_"Hmmm…No," the archangel said, leering down at the smaller angel with a smug grin plastered on his grace. The dragon snarled again and began to thrash even harder, not pleased at all with the position he was in. It was no use, however: Gabriel was heavier than the dragon, so he simply lowered himself down even more, placing more weight onto each of the pinned appendages and effectively shutting down any hope of escape._

_The dragon stilled, knowing it was hopeless. However, strength was not the only weapon he had in his arsenal. _

_A sly smile spread across his own grace. _

_"Let me go, right now..." he said, inching his head up slightly to whisper in the larger angel's ear holes. "Or I tell Michael that you skipped out on Guard Duty **again** just to come and harass me!" he growled._

_The archangel's golden eyes widened, and he recoiled from the smaller angel. "You wouldn't!" he whispered, trying to call the angel's bluff. _

_The dragon snorted. "You want to take that chance?" he asked, his own smirk spreading across his grace._

_The lion rumbled angrily, before finally moving off the smaller angel and letting him up. The dragon quickly flipped himself over, flaring his wings to rid them of the turf and grass that had gathered in them from the tumble down the hill._

_"You're no fun today!" Gabriel muttered, before flaring his wings and taking off, quickly followed by the smaller angel. "Of course I'm not!" the dragon said as he flew alongside the archangel, his wings adjusting slightly so as not to brush those of his brother. "It's not a lot of fun when your dick of an older brother pins you down with a rock wedged right in the small of your back!" he said, smacking the lion lightly on the side as he pulled ahead. _

_He felt a remorseful ping come from the archangel, before the other pulled up alongside him again. "Ouch! Sorry bro!" he said sympathetically, and the dragon snorted. He was used to it. _

_Suddenly, a bright flash of light in the distance caught his attention. "Hey, what's that…?_

* * *

><p>The angel jerked back awake as the vision stopped abruptly, his eyes flying open to stare at the archangel that was now looming over him with a concerned look on his face. He recognized that grace now! He could see those golden wings! He knew them!<p>

"Gabriel!" he gasped out, and the Fake-Trickster's mouth dropped.

Suddenly, an angel blade was being pressed to the smaller angel's throat, and the archangel's eyes narrowed dangerously. "How do you know that name!" the archangel growled.

* * *

><p>"Well, that's quite a story," Gabriel said. "Can't say I remember much of what happened in heaven, but if you say so, then, well…" Gabriel trailed off as he felt the angel's green eyes carding over him, taking in everything about him.<p>

He had sat and listened for a long time as the angel had explained what he had just seen, accompanied with his memories of the crystalline prison and his subsequent adventures following his breakout.

He had to admit, he was impressed with the little guy. For someone so clueless, he had made some pretty intelligent decisions after falling out of heaven. Or at least, they were intelligent when compared to Gabriel's own actions after _he _had left the place.

And he would definitely have to fill in the smaller angel on his vessel's history. By the Father, the angel didn't even know he was possessing a celebrity!

He recoiled slightly as he felt a small tendril of grace rub against his own, unused to the feeling of his energies being touched by anyone. It was no fault of the green-eyed angel, it was just that it had literally been thousands of years since he had even _seen _another angel, let alone _touched _one.

However, at the crestfallen look of the smaller angel, he relented, and tentatively allowed the misty gray-white essence of the angel's grace to touch his own. It was strange, touching the nameless angel's grace, as it didn't seem to be entirely present. It was as if large portions of it had been hacked off with a cleaver, or were just missing entirely. "What happened to you…?" he asked rhetorically as he stroked the grace, feeling it's slippery surface slide around his own energies.

"I could ask the same of you," the angel replied, leveling a curious look towards the archangel as he too explored the other's energies. "You don't feel at all like what I remembered," he said, a frown marring his face. Gabriel barked out a laugh that held no real amusement.

"Well, what can I say? After I waltzed out of heaven I had to disguise myself so Michael couldn't drag me back."

He gestured to himself as a smile spread across his face. "So, I had a face transplant, a few power swaps, and I did this-" *flump* "to my wings."

The angel's eyes widened as he stared at the appendages that were finally on full display.

Gabriel's six massive wings were not nearly as impressive as they had been before. They were still longer and sturdier than his own gray ones, but were much less vibrant than they had been in the vision. Green eyes traced over the subdued feathers, and he caught glimpses of Enochian sigils of binding and Pagan runes of submission interlaced within the feathers, making them much less visible and overall reducing the archangel's power, diminishing his presence.

Behind the archangel, he could see a few of the less intangible wings, but not nearly as many as the two hundred and fifty he knew the archangel possessed.

"Why?" he asked, the tone of his voice indicating that he was asking about far more than just the state of Gabriel's wings.

He was asking why he had left heaven in the first place.

Gabriel sighed.

"Well, you see little bro, after Michael chucked Lucifer into the pit, heaven kind of went nuts. Raphael retreated into himself, God left, Michael turned the place into an military compound, and Zachariah started to be an even bigger douchebag than before. We didn't have Azrael there to hold us together anymore. So I said, 'You know what, SCREW THIS!' and I left."

The angel's green eyes narrowed. "So you abandoned them," he said quietly, drawing an angry look from Gabriel. "Yeah, I did! So what?! It's not like one angel could have changed anything really!" he spat, his wings flapping in agitation. Although, by the tone of his voice, it seemed as if he was trying to convince _himself_ of this fact more than the other.

An awkward silence followed this, wherein nothing was said and Gabriel continued to roil in his inner turmoil.

Finally, the smaller angel broke the long silence with a drawn out sigh, his wings folding around him like a shield. "Why are you here, Gabriel?" he asked.

The archangel looked up from where he had been staring at his hands to lock eyes with the other angel. He tried for a small grin. "I always hitch a ride on the Hogwarts Express," he explained, his wings finally unraveling from their bunched up position as the topic moved towards a lighter subject. "I like to be kept in the loop about what the mages are up to. They've got to be the funniest humans around, and you should see the stuff they get up to. I mean, talking paintings? How cool is that?!" he cried.

His eyes got a crazy glint, and the green-eyed angel got a feeling that he was going to be sitting here for quite a while.

Sure enough, Gabriel launched into a very long winded spiel about how the wizards of Earth were a lot more fun to hang around with than even the angels back home. "Especially the Brits!" he emphasized every other line. The green-eyed angel rolled his eyes and sat back, relaxing his wings and letting his grace flow through the compartment, casually mixing with Gabriel's own diminished energies as he talked and talked.

Apparently, the British wizards were easily the most inventive out of all the mages on Earth, topping even the Americans in terms of sheer audacity. He referenced Ogden the Oddball as his personal favorite: a mage who, by all accounts, had slept in a room with over 200 Augerys (a type of bird whose moaning cries were often rumored to be death omens) and had been convinced that he had died; had listened to the song of the Fwoopers (a bird with bright feathers whose song is said to drive one mad) for months, and once even attempted to teach a polecat how to speak (which had resulted in the loss of one of his limbs).

Gabriel had also witnessed the first ever Quidditch World Cup final, which had gone down in the history books as the dirtiest game ever played, with over 4,000 fouls being called over the period of two weeks. "It was amazing! You wouldn't believe the things they were doing. Like, get this: when one of Chasers goes up to score a point, you know what the keeper does? He pulls out an axe and tries to chop his head off!"

The archangel rolled back in his seat, laughing his head off at the recalled images, not even noticing when the angel casually absorbed what 'Quidditch' was from his grace. The angel rolled his eyes as images of brightly colored witches and wizards on brooms zoomed through his head, and he decided that the archangel had talked for long enough.

"Gabriel," the angel said, holding his hand up to cut off the flow of words. "Not that I find this in depth history lesson boring (far from it actually), but what I originally meant was: what are you doing _here_. In my compartment. Talking to me?"

The archangel blinked, before a blush of embarrassment spread across his face. He had gotten completely side tracked from his initial purpose.

"I came here to see what an angel was doing on a train full of wizards. You're putting off quite a lot of signal energy, little bro. You should probably cut down on it," he said.

Suddenly, he snapped his fingers as a thought crossed his mind.

"Speaking of which," he said, before shooting his arm forward and slamming his palm into the smaller angel's abdomen.

The angel let out a hiss of pain as Gabriel's grace suddenly shot into his vessel, burning marks into his ribs that left him reeling. Placing a hand on Gabriel's chest, the angel pushed the other away from him, a furious look in his eye.

"What the hell was that!" the angel cried, his wings flaring into an aggressive stance.

The archangel instantly threw his hands up in mock surrender a wry grin forming on his face even as his six wings dropped in submission. "Hey hey, chill out Feather head!" he quipped. "Take a look at your insides before you go all righteous anger on me!" he said.

While the angel poured his grace over his chest, Gabriel's eyes traced his form, as if scrutinizing it for something. He had felt something that shouldn't have been there when he entered the angel.

Something dark.

"You put Enochian warding on my ribs!" the angel suddenly exclaimed as he found the markings. Gabriel nodded absentmindedly, not relenting in his examination, his eyes now glowing a heavenly gold, indicating that he was no longer simply staring at the angel's physical body. "It's to keep you from being found by other angels. If you escaped from heaven like that, they're bound to be looking for you."

He stopped talking as his eyes landed on something lodged in the angel's forehead. Something that should not be there.

"Hey little bro? Do you mind if I play doctor for a little while?" he asked, moving forward again and ignoring Hedwig's warning screech.

Green eyes looked up at him in confusion, not understanding the older angel's words. "What?" he asked.

"Could I examine your grace?" Gabriel clarified.

The angel blinked at the odd request, but eventually nodded his head and allowed the archangel to move closer.

Raising his hand, Gabriel pushed aside the crazy black locks of hair covering the angel's forehead, and his eyes locked firmly onto the lightning bolt shaped scar that rested there. Placing his hand on it, he sent his grace shooting straight into the scar, causing the angel beneath him to cry out in pain as something that was definitely _not _his grace jerked away from the invading archangel's power. Gabriel growled, before pouring more of his energy into the scar, shooting tendrils out to form a net, catching the foreign object and holding it still.

"Gotcha!" he growled, before slowly retracting the foreign energy from the angel's head.

The angel let out a yell of pain as his scar erupted, bright red blood erupting from the cut and streaming down his face as the archangel extracted the dark energy from his body; an energy that had integrated so closely with Harry's soul that the angel had not been able to tell that it was there when he first entered it.

With a final yank, Gabriel pulled his hand away from the boy's forehead, his fist wrapped tightly around whatever that darkness was. He felt a growing sense of revulsion as the…whatever-it-was writhed around in his fist, trying to escape the burning heat of his grace.

Funny, this almost felt like the soul of a demon, only…smaller. And rougher.

"Holy Shit!" Gabriel cried, and instantly thrust his arm away from his body, his grace roiling in absolute revulsion at the monstrosity that he held between his fingers.

"What?" Harry asked, finally sitting up after stopping the scar from bleeding. "What is it?"

"I can't believe it!" Gabriel whispered, his wings flaring in anger and disgust. "It's not possible! It _shouldn't_ be possible!" he cried.

The angel flapped his gray wings in apprehension, his grace withdrawing from that of the angered archangel. "Gabriel?" he asked quietly, his green eyes peering up at his older brother. "What is that you're holding?"

Gabriel's face did not lose its revolted look, but it did soften slightly as he caught sight of the wide green eyes staring at him.

The archangel sighed, before sitting down across from the gray winged angel, steeling his nerves. "Okay, story-time!" he said, before folding his wings behind him and fixing the angel with a solemn look that did not match well with his normally hyperactive personality. "How much do you know about your vessel?" he asked, his eyes looking from the by now healed scar and the angel's wide green eyes. The angel cocked his head to the side, confusion present in his face. "His name is Harry Potter, he lived with his relatives, he had a mother named Lily Potter, and he is a wizard," he said, his expression not changing as he righted his head.

He wondered where Gabriel was going with this.

"Do you know why Harry lived with his relatives, and not his family?" the archangel asked, tightening his hand slightly as the dark energy tried to burst through his hand.

The angel shook his head. "Harry's soul is too delicate for me to interact with currently. He appears to be very mentally damaged, and he seemed on the brink of suicide when I first found him," he answered.

Gabriel's eyebrows shot up at this, but he instantly schooled his expression back down. He would have to investigate that later.

"Well, allow me to explain then. Harry's parents were killed when the baby was just one year old. They were killed by one of the most powerful dark wizards of all time: the Dark Lord Voldemort. Or as the rest of the world likes to call him: You-know-who, or, alternatively, He-Who-Must-Not-be-Named. I don't know the exact details, but from what I've heard, Voldemort had tried to kill his parents three times already, and three times they had escaped him. So that Halloween night, when he came to Harry's house, he had no intention of sparing them. He killed them both in cold blood, and then tried to kill Harry."

Gabriel's fist tightened again, causing the trapped energy to squeal and whine as his grace burned its tender surface. "However, something happened when he tried to kill the baby; something strange. The curse that should have killed the boy instead rebounded, killing Voldemort instead. From that point on, he was heralded throughout the wizarding world as their savior, the Boy-Who-Lived, and they still celebrate even the mention of his name."

Gabriel shook his head, as if laughing at the irony of it all. "I personally don't think that the spell really killed Voldemort, though. From what I had seen up to that point, Voldemort had shown a surprising amount of resilience, even for a wizard; and I think he had several safety measures in place to keep something like that from happening. And what I'm currently holding in my hand simply proves that."

Finally, Gabriel opened his hand slightly to let the angel see what was inside. The archangel kept a thin layer of grace wrapped around the energy, just to make sure it didn't escape. The angel's eyes widened at what he saw.

There, in the center of the angel's palm, was a wrinkled, black piece of a human soul, with the faintest traces of a red magical core wrapped tightly around its withered surface. As the angel watched, the violent soul fragment lashed out at the grace encircling it, shrieking in rage as it could not escape the angel's hold.

"That's impossible!" the angel whispered.

And it should be. A human soul was one of the most powerful pieces of creation that god has ever undertook to make, each one loaded with enough energy to rival a nuclear explosion.

To cut, split, or divide such a thing was supposed to be a physical impossibility, but apparently magic could succeed where nothing else could. This withered hunk of soul shard was proof of that.

"That thing was _inside me?_" the angel asked in horror, and an overwhelming desire to dry heave hit him in the gut. To think that such an abomination had touched his grace, had fed off of it, without him even realizing it!

No. The angel didn't even_ want_ to think about it.

"Sadly, yes," Gabriel said, his own disgust evident in his voice. "And furthermore, I believe that this monstrosity is a fragment of the soul of Lord Voldemort," Gabriel concluded.

The green-eyed angel could only nod dumbly, still shell shocked, as he continued to stare at the writhing soul fragment with horrified fascination.

With a growl, Gabriel closed his fist, squeezing it tightly together and flaring his grace as he burned the soul shard.

The little monster shrieked as it's scaly surface was burnt by the purifying swells of grace coming from the archangel, overpowering its darkness with wave after wave of light.

"Die, you piece of filth," he growled, smirking with satisfaction as he purged his flesh of the stench of the soul shard, and with a final *EEEEEP!* the soul vanished, the fragment of Voldemort not even capable of moving on to any afterlife, but instead just vanishing into nothingness.

Gabriel let out a sigh, and slowly relaxed his hand.

It was empty.

The green-eyed angel sat back down, his whole body numb with shock. That had to be the most disturbing thing he had ever seen, and he was still trying to process all that had happened.

The explanation behind the 'Boy-Who-Lived thing' was certainly something to consider.

And it did explain why everyone treated him so strangely as soon as they learned his name.

And it also explained why he suddenly felt so much better, as if a piece of his grace had finally slid back into place. He realized suddenly that the soul fragment had been feeding off his grace, trying to draw in the divine energy to sustain itself. He felt another wave of disgust pass through him.

He sighed as he dispelled a wave of grace to cleanse the compartment, scrubbing it clean of the residual darkness that the soul fragment had left behind. His wings flared out a little, and the angel was pleased to note that they looked a little healthier, as if simply removing the soul fragment had been a step forward in his quest to completely heal his grace and regain his name.

"Thank you, Gabriel," he whispered, pressing his grace against that of his older brother. The archangel let a small smile crawl onto his face, and he wrapped his arms around the little angel and pulled him into a tight hug. "You're welcome little brother," he whispered. The green-eyed angel squeezed the archangel gently, before pulling away. Gabriel stood up, flexing his wings behind him as he clapped his hands together. "Well, that's all the time I have. I've got some pressing business in Somalia that I need to take care of," he said as he flared his grace.

The angel looked up in surprise. "You're leaving?" he asked, a hurt expression crossing his face. Gabriel paused and looked down at him, a small smile playing over his features. "Don't worry little bro, you'll be fine!" he said, reaching down and ruffling the angel's black hair fondly. "Besides, you don't need my help; not really. Based on what you've told me so far, you're a lot smarter than I was when I first left heaven, so you should be perfectly fine."

The archangel spread his arms out. "So go on, make new friends, have adventures of your own! Maybe cause a little trouble while you're at it," he said, adding a little wink at the end.

And then, finally, he crouched down and peered directly into the angel's eyes. "Besides, I have a feeling that I'll be seeing you again soon," he said, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

The angel cocked his head to the side in confusion, before the archangel was once again standing. "Now, if I'm not mistaken, you're about to have company, so put on your best ladykiller face and make me proud!"

The angel's brow furrowed in confusion. "Wait, Gabriel! What do you-"

*WOOSH*

Too late. With a flutter of wings, Gabriel was gone. The angel blinked a few times, trying to process what his big brother had just said. "I'll have company soon? Ladykiller face? What did he mean by that?" he asked himself.

He jumped as the compartment door was suddenly flung open, and spinning about, he was faced with a young girl, approximately the same size as his vessel, staring at him with deep, chestnut brown eyes and bushy auburn hair. "Terribly sorry to intrude," she said, not sounding sorry at all. "But you wouldn't happen to have found a toad, would you?" she asked.

The angel blinked.

Oooooh. That's what he meant.

* * *

><p>* <strong>Zo'Prakata:<strong> In Enochian, this is is a curse usually used to indicate disgust in oneself. A direct translation is not possible, but roughly put, it means 'Stupid Goat'.

* * *

><p><strong>Alright, I was going to have more here, but I have a feeling that this chapter has already gone on for a little too long, so please, rate and review, and tell me what you think.<strong>

**Have a good day/night/evening/whatever!**- Arudon

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**V**


	6. Exosphere

**I'm back! Ha-haaaaaaaaaaaaaa!**

**So sorry for that! My house suffered a blackout, and so all my data was deleted from my computer. Took a while just to re-upload all the old saves from different storages, but guess which story got deleted? That's right, you guessed it! Well, good news: power outages are not likely to happen again, and I've set up remote storages for this so it won't be deleted again. Yeah, Alright! Preventative measures! Woo-hoo.**

**Anyway, to make it up to you: superlong chapter.**

**Enjoy**

* * *

><p>The angel stared gob smacked at the girl, completely taken by surprise. His eyes flicked from her to the doorframe several times, his eyes wide with confusion.<p>

How in Father's name did she get past the warding!?

Casting his grace out, he felt around the seal of his door and found that, to his horror, Gabriel had given him another parting gift: he had changed the nature of the grace that the compartment was emitting to be the exact opposite of what the angel had initially intended.

Now instead of keeping people _away, _it was drawing people _in._

He could almost hear his brother's mischievous voice, "_You need to socialize, little buddy! Otherwise, people will think you're weird! Well…weirder!_"

Shut up mental Gabriel!

The angel's eyes snapped back to the girl's face as she folded her arms. "Well?" she asked, looking at him with a haughty gaze, clearly not enjoying being kept waiting.

My, this one sure is _bossy._

"My apologies, but no, I have not seen an amphibian recently," he said politely, his green eyes never leaving the girl's hazel.

Truth be told, very few people could actually bring themselves to break eye contact with the angel. Even if the angel had decided not to possess the young boy, he would still have been blessed with beautiful green eyes. Now, however, with an angel's presence lighting him up from the inside, the eyes had taken on a whole new level of entrancement, and the fact that he rarely ever blinked made his gaze almost hypnotic. A normal person could easily lose themselves in those emerald depths, sucked in by the swirling vortexes of green.

Which was why it came as quite a shock when the girl casually broke eye contact and gave him a quick once over. She paused when her eyes landed on his forehead.

Her eyes narrowed.

"What's that on your head?" she asked.

The angel's brow furrowed, before he reached a hand up and felt his head. Pulling it away, he was surprised to see a small amount of blood on it from where his scar had ruptured. The angel pushed aside his messy black hair to reveal the irritated mark, which was still red and pulsing angrily. "My scar," he replied flatly.

The girl's eyes widened considerably, and her mouth dropped open in shock.

"You're _Harry Potter!_" she exclaimed.

At the angel's quiet nod of confirmation, her shocked expression quickly morphed into that of an eager grin, the girl's mind practically leaping at the chance to uncover some new knowledge. Stepping inside the compartment, she sat down on the opposite bench, her wide brown eyes practically burning holes into the angel's body with the intensity of her gaze. "I've already read loads about you, of course!" she said, her eyes trailing over his body once more in detail, pausing at the curious looking shadows that rested behind him. "But then again, who hasn't?" she asked.

The angel shrugged, discretely pulling his wings in closer to his body, removing the shadows that had been cast by the large appendages. He had a feeling that the girl would not miss much, even if she was only human.

The angel's eyes began to glow an ethereal green as he, in turn, took the opportunity to examine the girl. She was young, probably no older than ten or eleven, and had a reasonably bright soul. There was very little darkness swirling around in her heart, and her magical core was a nice healthy yellow color.

She also happened to have the distinction of being the first actual _girl_ that the angel had managed to observe close up. The shopkeepers didn't count, as they were all grown up, and neither did the infants that he had seen, as they had no real personalities to speak of.

Hedwig hooted from her perch on the luggage rack above him, peering down at the intruder with wide yellow eyes. She did _not _appreciate having someone that close to_ her_ angel! The other man from before had been bad enough, but this new arrival was simply **_unacceptable!_**

The girl glanced up at the bird. "That's a beautiful owl you have there," she said, a warm smile spreading on her face. "I don't think I've ever seen one like her!"

Hedwig preened and fluffed her feathers, her ego once again being fed by the compliment.

Maybe this _new arrival_ wouldn't so bad after all.

"Yes, Hedwig truly is one of a kind," the angel replied, shooting a curious look towards the owl at her uncharacteristic behavior.

An awkward silence descended upon them after that, in which neither said a word. The angel waited for the girl to say something, while she in turn continued to examine him like a lab specimen under a microscope.

After a full minute of this, it was clear to the angel that just sitting here would not get him anywhere._ 'Looks like I will have to initiate conversation,'_ he thought.

"So, since you know what my name is, do you mind my asking for yours?" he asked, leaning forward slightly in his seat.

The girl flushed brightly in embarrassment. "Oh, I'm sorry. My name is Hermione," she said, before extending her right hand. "Hermione Granger."

The angel slowly extended his own hand and took her own. This would be the first time someone had actually offered their hand to the angel, rather than just grabbed his and shook vigorously.

"Nice to meet you Hermione Granger," he said, giving her hand a firm shake before releasing it.

Hermione nodded and pulled her own appendage back. Once again the awkward silence descended upon them as the angel just continued to stare at Hermione, and the girl was starting to be a little creeped out by the fact that he rarely blinked or changed his facial expression. It almost seemed to be a marble bust rather than a living human, she thought idly.

Truthfully, it was a little bit unnerving.

However, she didn't let the silence hold sway for long, and soon enough her bubbling curiosity demanded that she question the boy. "I have to say, it's a pleasure to meet someone like you!" she exclaimed finally, drawing a curious look from the boy across from her. "I have so many questions I've been wanting to ask you," she said.

The angel cocked his head to the side. Questions? For him?

"About what?" he asked.

The girl's eyes seemed to come alive with some strange fire. "Well, I was wondering how you managed to survive the killing curse when you were a baby?" she asked, her fingers gripping the hem of her deep black robes as she leaned forward in her chair, peering at the black haired boy with wide brown eyes.

The angel just shook his head. He didn't have an inkling of a clue as to what happened to allow his vessel to survive, and apart from what he had just learned from Gabriel, the only thing he knew for certain was that the boy was magical and he had lived with his aunt and uncle. That was it.

"Your guess is as good as mine," he said.

The girl seemed to visibly deflate, a pout passing across her face as she was denied access to knowledge that she had been hoping to get ahold of for so long.

But that didn't stop her overactive mind from coming up with another question. "What about You-Know-Who?" she said, her expressions once again brightening. "You're one of the few who's actually seen him and lived! What was he like?" she asked eagerly.

The angel shook his head again, causing the girl to pout, her enthusiasm shot down once again.

The angel sighed. "I'm sorry Hermione. It all happened when I was so young, I can barely remember any of it," he lied. Well, it wasn't _really _a lie, just more of a half-truth. He really didn't know either way if Harry remembered or not, but right now the boy was still far too fragile to bother with these mundane questions.

So he would lie for him.

Hermione frowned. Well, that was no help at all. "Well, where did you go after he kil- I mean, after he…you know…" she trailed off, suddenly becoming very cognizant of how insensitive her question might have seen if she had asked it.

"After he killed my parents?" the angel provided. Hermione nodded.

The corners of his lips twitched in what might have been the beginnings of a smile. "It's alright Hermione, it happened a long time ago when I was a one year old. You don't have to be sensitive about it. They're dead and in heaven, and there's not much that can change that."

Well, at least the angel _assumed _they were in heaven. The mother had given her life to save his vessel, after all. _S__he_ deserved the honor at least!

Perhaps he should go back sometime to check and make sure they were there. He added that onto his mental "To-Do" list.

Hermione, in the mean time, just nodded her head, glad to know that she hadn't almost offended him. She knew she could be overzealous sometimes, but she was really trying to be careful.

She didn't want to lose a chance to make a new friend, after all!

"Yes, well, the books say that you were sent to live in an undisclosed location." she said, getting back to the subject. "So where did you go?"

Harry's face lifted into his signature half smile. "Well, I can answer _that _one pretty easily." he said easily, sitting forward slightly in his chair to better look at Hermione. "I was sent to live at my Aunt and Uncle's house afterwards, and I've been living there for most of my life."

Though they weren't ideal conditions, that much was certain. From what the angel had seen of family interaction, it was highly abnormal for a child to be sleeping in a cupboard and be punched in the face. That kind of interaction was known as, "abuse", and it was almost unheard of in wizarding society, who was currently facing a crisis in birth rates.

This treatment might actually explain why Harry's soul was so raw and sensitive to touch, so much so that the angel could barely touch it for fear of an adverse reaction.

Hermione nodded at the newly acquired information. "So you were raised in the magical community? That must have been fun! I'm muggleborn myself, actually, so I didn't know I was a witch until my letter came!" she said happily.

Harry frowned. From what he had seen, the Dursleys had not displayed any sign of magical potency whatsoever. Their souls had been dull and grimy, and devoid of any magical cores. "Actually, my Aunt and Uncle were muggles, and I too had no idea that I was magical until my letter came."

Actually, he didn't even know how to read at that point. But perhaps it would be better for Hermione to remain unaware of _that_ particular piece of information.

After all, his reading skills had improved exponentially since then, and he had spent most of his time in Flourish and Blotts perusing the seemingly endless stacks of tomes for useful information.

Hermione's eyes widened. "But why would you be raised _there_?" she asked, her voice elevating in disbelief. "You're practically a household icon, but you didn't even know it?"

No wonder he didn't act like the pompous prick one might have expected from a celebrity. He didn't even _know_ about magic!

In a matter of seconds, the angel had made himself infinitely more approachable in the girl's eyes.

The angel shrugged his shoulders, not having given the matter much thought.

"I don't know," he said simply, and the witch, while still seeming unsatisfied, let the matter drop.

A short, much more comfortable silence once again fell upon them, interrupted only by the rattling of the train over bumps on the track and Hedwig's continued preening from the luggage rack. Soon enough, though, Hermione was bursting at the seams with another question.

"So what house do you think you'll be in?" she asked the angel.

Harry looked up at her from where he had been examining his fingertips, his brilliant green eyes once again locking with Hermione's own chocolate brown. "I'm not sure," he said.

This was actually one of the questions that he understood. After his encounter with the blond haired Draco Malfoy, he had become determined to know exactly what he was going to be getting into. And as such, the first book that he had read upon entering Flourish and Blotts was an old tome, easily a foot thick, entitled _Hogwarts, A History_.

The store owner had told him that he would probably not be done with it for a month, and that he should buy it.

The angel had read the whole thing, cover to cover, in just under two days.

Twice.

He had been fascinated to learn about the house system, which he likened to the garrisons back in heaven. Each house represented a garrison, with the prefects as the leaders of the garrisons and the head boy and girl as the seraphs. The teachers would be the powers, the heads of house the archangels, and the headmaster or headmistress would be like God.

Obviously, it wasn't exactly like that, but it was close enough for the angel to make sense of.

He had been particularly interested in how the students were divided. After all, the houses would often compete against each other, which the angel approved of. There seemed to be some kind of Social Darwinism operating behind the house system: with competition, each student will only get stronger, while the weaker ones are weeded out.

Gryffindor seemed to be theoretically the strongest and noblest of houses. Its students were usually characterized by a strong affinity for light magic, as well as healthy doses of courage and bravery. They were usually headstrong, and produced powerful wizards that would often go on to be in the enforcement sections of wizarding society.

Slytherin was the polar opposite of Gryffindor. It's students were always either purebloods or half-bloods, and they were characterized by their cunning and/or affinity for dark magic. That didn't necessarily make them bad people by default, but they were certainly not ones to let your guard down around. They seemed to express the most unity of the four houses, and would often move as one body towards a common goal. They were cunning and ambitious, and very much represented their house symbol: a snake.

Ravenclaw was an interesting house. They didn't really care about blood status or affinity for magic. They were just focused on gaining as much knowledge as possible. They seemed to be the most aloof of the four houses, and tended not to get involved with any of the inter-house rivalry. They were also the least cohesive as a group: they believed that if you could make it on your own, then you didn't need a safety net. If you weren't up to the challenge: too bad. None of the others were going to catch you. It led to the creation of (at least mentally) the strongest individuals, and many Ravenclaws developed a sense of independence very early on. The exact opposite of angels, who were usually very dependent on each other.

Which is why his isolation was so grueling.

And, finally, there was Hufflepuff. The house of rejects, as they were often called. For those who were not particularly brave, or cunning, or intelligent, Hufflepuff was usually the house you landed in. They had the most loyalty of any house, and often operated in large groups wherever they went. However, the house was the most looked down upon, and they only produced your run of the mill wizards; usually never anything special.

All in all, there were a lot of different character aspects that had to be evaluated before being put into any of the four houses, and the book hadn't said very much about the mysterious "Sorting Hat" that supposedly placed people into their houses.

The angel was particularly curious.

"I suppose any house would be good for me, as long as no one else has a problem with it," the angel supplied, and Hermione nodded in agreement.

"I think I'll either be in Ravenclaw or Gryffindor," she said. "I know I'm not getting into Slytherin that's for sure, and Hufflepuff is nice, but…it's not for me," she finished. The angel nodded his head in agreement.

Suddenly, a thought popped into his head

"Weren't you looking for a toad when you came in?" he asked.

Hermione's eyes widened. "Oh my goodness, poor Neville!" she cried, before getting up and moving to the door. "I promised him I would be back in five minutes! I hope he hasn't broken something while I've been gone, he's ever so clumsy!" she said, before opening the compartment door and almost tripping over herself in her haste to leave.

As the angel watched the girl go, he felt a ping of remorse shoot through his body. He didn't really want her to leave, she was interesting.

The door slammed shut with a resounding *clack*, and the girl quickly passed out of the angel's sight. He slowly sat back in his seat, a sigh escaping his mouth as his wings puffed up morosely.

Hedwig hopped down onto his lap and pecked him on the cheek, making a clucking noise as she did so. The angel's face instantly brightened, and with a chuckle he reached up and scratched the nape of her neck. "But not nearly as interesting as you of course," he said, rubbing his other hand into her chest feathers. "I still don't know how you can see my wings."

Hedwig clucked mischievously, before nipping the said appendage. The angel winced and pulled his feathers away from the chuckling bird.

"Ouch!"

* * *

><p><strong><em>Blast this cursed thing!<em>**

The angel cursed to himself over and over in Enochian as he stood in the train's on-board bathroom (magically enlarged to have over twenty stalls and urinals, along with five working sinks). He was standing before one of those sinks, staring into the mirror as he furiously trying to unravel the secrets behind the most devilish piece of clothing he had ever been forced to wear: _A TIE!_

He just couldn't get the Father forsaken thing to sit properly! Every time he tried to get it to knot properly, the blasted thing came _undone!_

With another yank, the angel pulled a thread of fabric through a loop, hoping that this time it would work. The cloth seemed to have some kind of enchantment on it to help younger students tie it, but for some reason it kept being thrown off by his grace.

His wings flared in annoyance as it came undone yet again.

**_DAMN IT!_**

_'This is starting to get embarrassing,'_ the angel thought. Here he was, one of the most powerful supernatural beings on the planet (currently) and he couldn't even tie a knot properly.

His long, delicate fingers whizzed about the cloth like a pair of spiders learning how to tap dance. He would _not _be defeated by an article of clothing. He _would _figure this out.

Up, over, under, around, through, back over, around, and…

GOTCHA!

His eyes flashed in victory as he finally got a proper knot on the tie, allowing it to settle back down on his chest and tucking it in to the rest of his uniforms. Glancing back at the mirror again, he took a moment to admire himself.

…

What? Angels can be quite vain when they want to!

His black Hogwarts robes cascaded around his body like liquid shadows, playing perfectly off his ebony locks and accentuating his already pale skin. His bright green eyes shown out from his face from behind his glasses, and the angry red lightning-bolt-shaped scar could be seen on his forehead if one looked close enough. The irritation had gone down quite a bit, but a tear in his vessel like that would never truly fade.

The scar was permanent, a reminder of the darkness that had resided in it.

The angel paid it no mind as he examined the rest of his uniform. It seemed to be in working order, though, so he was satisfied. Turning, he walked out the bathroom door with his wings held high in pride, not realizing that he had actually put the tie on backwards.

Oh well. Angels weren't _that_ worried about their looks.

Striding back to his compartment, he slid the door open to be greeted by a flurry of white feathers. "AH! Hedwig, please stop!" the angel cried as the white bird hooted excitedly and flapped around. She could feel the old magic of the school approaching as they grew closer to the old castle. In just a few minutes, they would be getting off at the Hogsmeade station, and then the fun would _really _start!

The angel chuckled softly at her enthusiasm, a half smile flickering across his face as he reached a hand up for her to rest on. Hedwig graciously accepted the perch, gripping the angel's stone hard fingers with her own steely talons.

She tightened her grip on the fingers, not worried about hurting the angel.

That had to be her favorite thing about her master (besides his large gray wings and the fact that he was _HERS!_): his flesh was as unbreakable as stone. She could grip him as hard as she wanted, and he wouldn't even feel it. He was still remarkably warm, though, so it wasn't too offsetting.

A loud banging was heard out in the hallway, and the angel's eyes were drawn away from his feathered friend to the transparent doorway. A tall boy dressed in the Hogwarts school robes was headed down the aisle. Around his neck was a red tie, secured with a perfectly tied knot. On his robes was a bright gold and scarlet crest of a lion roaring and rearing up on his hind legs, and atop the boy's head rested a mop of bright curly red hair.

Also adorning his robes was a bright silver button with an intricate "P" inscribed onto it, indicating that he was above the rest of the students. _'A prefect,'_ the angel thought.

"Get ready to move, we'll be there in two minutes." The boy called out in an arrogant voice, obviously pleased at having the responsibility of command. "I repeat, we are arriving at Hogwarts in two minutes. If you are not dressed by that time then you will be docked house points!" he called, before moving past the angel's line of sight.

The angel was practically quivering in excitement, and Hedwig nipped him happily.

Sure enough, not thirty seconds later the train let out off a massive squealing sound, and the train's whistle blared loudly as it slammed its breaks on, causing everyone on the train to lurch sharply.

The angel frowned as he swayed slightly, his wings flaring to counteract the train's forward momentum. You'd think for a magical train that it would have a smoother transition stage!

As soon as the train came to a complete stop, the angel felt a wave of magic sweep down the aisle, unlatching all the doors and cancelling out his grace warding. Immediately, all the compartment doors swung open to release the students out into the hallway. The angel stayed in his seat, knowing it would be fruitless to try to compete with the mass of students that were sure to come pouring off the train.

Sure enough, the hallway was rapidly flooding with students of all races and genders as the poured out from their compartments, each and every one eager to get off and into the castle.

The angel smirked slightly as he brought Hedwig up to his shoulder, motioning for her to get on. Hedwig hooted softly and nibbled on his ear as she stepped onto her new perch, her sharp talons digging into the robes as she steadied herself.

The angel flared his massive gray wings behind him as he vanished from the compartment, moving his body through space at speeds faster than light to reappear outside the train on the platform. He gazed bemusedly at the children who were pouring out of the compartments in waves of human bodies.

The angel remained perfectly still. Standing as he was in the darkness, no one could see him; however, he could see everyone else. His bright green eyes taking in the rush of humans. It was quite interesting to actually be able to observe a crowd without being trampled by it.

Hmm, I should do this more often!

Turning his gaze to the side, he locked eyes with Hedwig's own golden gaze. "I think you should head off now, Hedwig," he said, raising his hand to stroke the nape of her neck, just like she loved. Hedwig cooed in response. "I don't think these wizards will enjoy your company as much as I do."

Hedwig clacked her beak in response, giving him a concerned gaze, as if to say, 'Are you sure you don't need me?'

The angel chuckled and shook his head. "Don't worry, I'll be fine. Now go find some nice tasty rats!" he said.

The owl gave another soft hoot, before nibbling his earlobe and taking off, winging away to do just that.

The angel watched her go with a little pang of regret, before it was immediately shut down by a thunderous voice announcing from behind him, "FIRS' YEARS! FIRS' YEARS, THIS WAY!"

The angel spun around, his bright green eyes searching for the owner of the voice.

They didn't have to look very hard. There, standing at the edge of the platform, was a giant.

There were no other words to describe the man, if you could even call him a man. He was _HUGE! _Easily eight feet tall, with broad shoulders and a bulging chest!

His height aside, the man also looked rather intimidating: dressed in a large brown coat and huge scraggly black beard, he definitely looked the part of the savage. However, a brief glimpse into the interior of the man's soul revealed that this was far from true. The man's soul was just as bright as Tom's, if not more so.

He was a gentle, kind man.

The angel had nothing to fear from him.

_'Huh, a gentle giant. Imagine that!' _he thought.

The angel was quickly swept up in a wave of first year students as they flocked towards the half-giant, all eager to get to the castle.

The angel was reminded of sheep flocking to a Sheppard. The mental image formed by this thought caused a small half-smile to flicker across his face, before it once again vanished into the stony exterior it normally assumed.

The children were led off the platform and down to a long wooden pier at the end of a bay, where a small fleet of wooden boats was moored.

"PILE INTO THE BOATS! NO MORE N' THREE TO A BOAT!" the giant called out, and the angel quickly found himself herded onto one of them (really they were more on the lines of dinghies, actually) along with two other students.

His eyes lit up when he realized that one of the students was a very familiar auburn haired girl. "Hello Hermione!" he said, causing the girl to jump and spin around. Upon seeing who was addressing her, the girl's face also lifted up in a smile. "Oh, Hello Harry!" she said happily, pulling the angel into a hug.

The celestial stiffened as the mortal's arms wrapped around his vessel, and his feathers flexed a few times. Father, he was not _used to this! _Every time someone made physical contact with him was a shock to the angel. Hermione, however, did not notice his discomfort, and merely pulled away from him after a moment, leaving the angel to awkwardly rub his arm, strangely missing the contact.

With a sudden lurch, the boat cast off from the dock and moved out into the water. The angel's eyes widened as the rocking almost knocked him off balance, and he spread his legs a little wider to make sure he remained on his feet.

Suddenly, fingers wrapped around his wrist. "Harry, _sit down!_" Hermione said harshly, yanking him back into the seat next to her. The angel's eyes widened as his rear end collided with the hard wood of the boat, causing the craft to wobble even more. "Honestly, do you want to get seasick?" the girl asked incredulously.

The angel cocked his head in confusion.

What does 'seasick' mean?

"…No…?" he answered.

Hermione *hmph*ed, before turning to stare out across the darkened lake.

As they rounded the bend of the bay, the angel's green eyes widened in awe as the castle came into view. Situated as it was on a high cliff, the whole school was shimmering with torchlight and looking truly incredible. Arcane energy seemed to simply roll off the castle, cascading down into the water before it. The angel could see ropes of magic connecting to each individual boat, drawing them towards the school.

Suddenly, a tingle passed over him, and he mentally corrected himself. The school didn't just _seem _to radiate arcane energy: it actually was. The angle shivered as he felt wave after wave of magical energy collide with his body, sending curious tendrils all over his grace. The school seemed to be trying to decide what he was, unsure of whether or not to allow him to come any closer.

The angel's breath caught as their boat suddenly halted, a wall of arcane energy simmering around them as Hogwarts gazed down on the angel. She did not like trespassers.

"What's going on?" Hermione whispered, her brown eyes widening in fear as she gripped the side of the small craft.

The angel did not reply as the school's consciousness tightened its invisible grip around his mind. The sheer level of arcane energy was more than a match for his shattered grace, and within a matter of seconds he was thoroughly subdued.

The angel's body slumped down in his chair, his eyes halfway closing as all focus was taken away from the physical realm and thrust into the spiritual one.

* * *

><p>In his mind's eye, he stood there on the glassy, rippled surface of the lake in his true form: a sixty foot long, thirty foot tall dragon with twelve gray wings. Crystalline spikes ran the length of his spine, ending with a hole embedded in the tip of his tail where his angel blade should reside. His bright green eyes stared out from his face plate, while his scales rippled with the power of his grace (fractured as it was).<p>

Wrapped around his head, his brilliant white halo pulsed with divine power, the glowing white ring inscribed with millions of tiny Enochian sigils denoting the angel's rank and status.

He looked much better than he originally had back in heaven when he had first escaped, but he was still nowhere near up to full strength.

He tilted his head back as he looked up the cliff, where the glowing castle had stood before. His bright green eyes widened as an entirely different image greeted him.

Standing before him in place of the castle was a seventy foot tall woman in a flowing silver dress. Her entire being was composed of all the colors of the visible spectrum swirling about across the surface: gold, red, green, blue, yellow, orange, teal, purple, and so many, many more.

Long, braided hair cascaded down her shoulders and pooled around her waist, pulsing with magic and arcane energy. Her face was kind but severe, with smile lines marking her cheeks, indicating she was usually much more cheerful.

She was not smiling now. In fact, her expression reminded the angel of a mother wolf protecting her cubs.

The dress she wore was not silver, as the angel had thought at first glance, but instead appeared to be more along the lines of a pale white with silvery sparkles, as if it had been sewn out of moonlight and diamonds. The gorgeous fabric was much longer than her form, and long threads of it flowed off her body and down the cliff, where it pooled around in the water like feelers.

The woman frowned down at him, and the angel felt a chill pass down his spine. She narrowed her eyes, before extending her hand towards the angel and flexing her long spindly fingers, as if to ward him off.

Instantly the silvery threads of her dress that were trailing down the cliff face came alive, their tips waving as if animated by some hitherto unknown consciousness. Shooting forward through the water, the threads began to spread out beneath the surface of the lake, forming a sort of net.

The angel shifted his weight in trepidation as the threads encircled him, but as long as they did not come any closer, he didn't see any cause to overreact.

If she wanted to threaten him, that was fine. He was an angel, she could not hold him for long anyway.

Oh, how naïve.

As if signaled by some unseen command, the threads shot forward through the water, erupting through the surface and breaking the glassy mirror-like texture in a frothing mess.

The angel let out an indignant roar of outrage as the threads (now bordering on the texture of wires) surged towards him with the speed of a thousand bullets.

Roar after furious roar escaped his mouth as he tried to recoil from their attack, rolling around on the surface of the lake and flinging his grace back and forth. However, he was swiftly subdued as the tendrils succeeded in wrapping around his legs, wings, neck, and tail; holding him down and preventing him from moving. He thrashed in their grip, his talons flexing over and over as he continued to snarl loudly. He threw his grace against the net again and again in a futile attempt to escape, all the while staring murderously up at the magical avatar.

It was no use, however: the woman's magic far outweighed his depleted energy.

Finally stilling, the dragon sank back to the surface of the lake, his body resting on the mirror like plane as he rumbled his discontent. He was subdued.

For now.

Tilting his neck back, he glared up at the woman with furious emerald eyes, and if looks could kill the woman would have been shish-kabobbed and boiled alive before you could say "Hoggy hoggy Hogwarts!"

The woman's own kaleidoscope eyes stared back down at the angel, the hard lines of her features tightening slightly as they traced the figure of the angel, pausing at the sight of his three faces, twelve wings, and glowing white halo.

"What are you, small one?" she asked, her mouth not moving at all, but her voice, like that of rolling thunder, echoing out across the mindscape.

"I am hardly small!" the angel replied, his own true voice rolling out in equal intensity as he attempted to flare his wings in response. However, this display did nothing more than force the woman to tighten her grip of the net. The angel cringed, thrashing in anger as the bindings bit into his skin, before once again ceasing his struggles and lying still.

The woman frowned.

"I'll ask one more time: what are you?" she thundered, clearly unhappy with having to repeat herself. "I have never seen one of such peculiar traits as your own. And nothing even remotely resembling you has ever attempted to breach my defenses!"

The angel did nothing but growl at her in return.

The woman's eyes lit up with fury, and with a flick of her fingers, the ropes tightened even more, slicing into his scales. However, instead of drawing forth blood, the cuts instead forced a misty white substance to break through the surface of his skin.

The angel's own grace.

The angel's wings spasmed as the woman cut a little deeper. His whole body was shaking in pain by now. "I am an Angel of the Lord!" he cried out finally.

The woman gasped. She had heard of these beings from her sister schools all over the world. Apparently, angels were a race of nigh on immortal beings that existed on another plane of existence called 'Heaven' and on occasion descended to Earth to walk amongst the humans in the guise of a human themselves.

(That would explain the curious nature of the boy that the angel was currently residing in).

However, apart from that, she knew next to nothing about the angels. She didn't know who they were, who they worked for, what their intentions were, or even what they looked like!

She mentally crossed that last one off her list._ She knew now!_

Still, it would be a great opportunity to examine this _angel_ more closely.

The coils immediately stopped tightening as the woman's curiosity was piqued, and she tilted her head to the side in bemusement. "An angel?" she asked.

At the angel's nod, the woman was satisfied. With a flick of her finders, the coils were retracting, drawing back up to her. However, they did not loosen their hold on the angel in the slightest, and so he was yanked out of the water and hoisted up into the air. Rising higher and higher, the angel looked around in alarm and attempted to free himself, unsure of what the woman's intentions were. The woman's frown softened: even though his face betrayed not a hint of emotion, she could still read his anxiety easily from the way his draconic body was tensing and the slight flutter of his wings.

He was mortified that he had been put in a situation that he had very little control over, and was ignorant of his captor's intentions.

She could sympathise: she had no idea what he wanted either.

The coils stopped rising as they drew level with her face, the angel's body suspended before her in the air, glowing softly with the grayish-white of his grace.

Twisting about, the dragon finally managed to move himself until he could peer at the woman's eyes. Bright green eyes met those of psychedelic rainbows, and the angel was transfixed by their swirling, hypnotic presence.

The woman let out a hum of approval. His eyes were particularly interesting, as they gleamed with an otherworldly light not found here on this Earth.

"What is your name, angel?" she asked, peering curiously at the creature.

Now that she could see him up close, she realized how much of an oddity he really was. His grace, for example: never before had she seen anything so pure, so bright.

And yet at the same time, it was damaged almost beyond repair. She could see whole chunks missing from his wings, and there were large patches on his back where no scales grew. His underbelly was covered in soft, white fur, but every so often there were would be a bald patch, showing off the angel's sickly gray skin beneath. The color of his gray, listless wings were the feather in the proverbial cap, so to speak.

He was truly a sorry specimen.

"I have no name," the angel answered, turning slowly in his binds so that he was less… _exposed_.

The woman cocked her head to the side. "What do you mean, angel. All things have a name!"

The angel nodded in agreement. "That is true" he consented. "And I am sure that I too at one time had a name. However, the same incident that led to my current…condition, is the same reason that I cannot recall it. I have been robbed of the memory of my name, and thus severely limited in my power."

The angel flexed his tattered wings slowly, turning his head forlornly to stare at them with sorrowful green eyes. "That is why I have come here," he continued, turning back to look at the woman with a new fire burning within the depths of his emerald green eyes. "To use magic to reclaim my name!"

The woman's eyes narrowed. "And what do you think magic can do for you, angel?" she asked.

With a flick of her hand, the angel's draconic form was once again twisted about in the air, this time forcing him to sit up so that his tail was pointed down and his head up, exposing his belly once again.

The angel growled a little as she extended her fingers, worried about what she was about to do, but she paid him no mind. She had to continue her examination after all.

Running a delicate finger over the soft fur, a small smile crept onto her face as a shudder swept through his body and the angel's growl was replaced by a surprised croon. As there were no protective scales on his underside, the skin there was incredibly sensitive and particularly delicate. To have someone touch him there was…

Oddly pleasurable.

Huh, didn't know I was turning into a dog. What's next, roll over and ask her to give you a belly rub? Snap out of it! You're an angel! Act like it!

He was dragged from his thoughts as the woman asked another question

"Why go through all that trouble?" she asked curiously, gazing at the angel with her psychedelic eyes. "Would not your siblings help you, or perhaps your Mother?"

The angel snorted in amusement, before sucking in his belly, pulling it away from her hand. He couldn't think with her ruffling him up like that! He winced as the bindings cut into him yet again.

"You obviously know nothing of our kind if you are naïve enough to ask me that," he spat, yanking his tail at the chords.

The woman's eyes narrowed, and she shot her right hand (the one that had just moments ago been caressing his belly) forward, snagging the angels chin and pulling him forward, so that they were eye to eye. "Watch your tone when addressing me, _kaitia*_" she said sternly, her fingers tightening ever so slightly.

"You are the one who is coming to me and begging access, remember! Do not forget yourself!" she glared.

How stupid of her forget her original purpose in manifesting: this was an intruder! Treat it as such!

She released him with a simple flex of her fingers, and the angel swung away from her on his chords, not entirely sure what to make of that.

"Now explain yourself! Why do you mock me when I ask about your Mother?" she demanded.

The angel tilted his head in confusion.

"I have no Mother."

The woman scoffed. "Fool! All things have a Mother. That is the very law of nature itself!" she said adamantly.

For shame: to think that a being such as him could fool the likes of her! She was the magical manifestation of the school known as Hogwarts; the oldest and most powerful symbol of magical power in this hemisphere!

And she was right too: all things had a Mother.

All things except angels.

If the angel could roll his eyes, he certainly would have. "And yet, I do not. My Father made me out of nothingness, gave me my form and my wings, and set me to work doing his bidding. That is what it means to be an Angel of the Lord."

The woman looked gob-smacked. This creature had no mother?

Preposterous!

No. _Unacceptable!_

Wait, that doesn't make sense.

She leaned in closer to the angel, her eyebrows drawn in confusion. "You say that you have no memory of your time with your Father, yet you claim to serve him?" she asked.

The angel nodded his head.

The woman frowned, confused. "Why?" she asked.

The angel shrugged his shoulders in a defeated gesture. "It's what I was made to do," he answered simply. "It's what _all _angels are made to do! We are all part of a higher order called the Heavenly Host, which work in conjunction as God's will, both in Heaven and on Earth."

He spread his wings out slowly, making sure they didn't cut into the binds that were still holding him. "Look at me," he commanded. The woman's eyes narrowed slightly, displeased with the angel's tone.

"And what am I supposed to be looking for?" she asked.

The angel's wings flicked again, showing off the threadbare appearance of his wings. "I am broken, cut up, and battered. I can't even remember my own name, let alone my purpose. My brothers and sisters would be more likely to simply cut me apart than help me. And my Father won't answer to a simple angel like me!" he cried, his true voice rising higher in volume and causing ripples to form in the water below him.

The woman winced as her eardrums began to ring.

"So that's why I left," the angel finished, folding his wings back up to his body. "Heaven has no time for a useless angel. No one cares enough."

The angel lowered his head, wishing he had eyelids that he could use to block out his sight. He didn't want to have to look at himself, nor the ugly gray shade his scales had taken.

Suddenly, he gasped in shock as the binds released him, and a pair of warm, motherly arms wrapped around his body and drew him forward towards the woman's warm bosom. The woman held the angel close to her heart, running a hand through the angel's wings and swiftly reducing him to a pile of crooning gooey mess.

"You poor thing," she whispered into the angel's ear hole. "Your life seems to have been so empty and dull for so long now! Living only to serve is not living at all!"

Pulling the angel away she held him at arm's length, the angel's bright green eyes staring at her in confusion.

The woman smiled. Who knew a thirty foot tall dragon with a blank face could look so adorable?

"I will allow you to enter Hogwarts on several conditions," she finally said, catching the angel's gaze with her psychedelic rainbow eyes.

"Really?" the angel asked, his tail wagging beneath him like an excited puppy.

"Yes, so long as you do not bring harm to any children inside my walls, you do not attempt to destroy me, and you do not attempt to undermine the house system!" she said imperiously.

The angel nodded his head.

"Wherever Matthias decides to put you is where you'll stay. Do not attempt to change this!" she said.

The angel nodded, but his eyes had taken on a more quizzical look.

Who's Matthias?

"Alright, enough talk," the woman said, dropping the angel from her grip. The angel dropped a few feet before his wings snapped out and caught him, holding him steady in the air while he continued to hover at the edge of the cliff.

"I cannot sustain this form for long, and I fear restraining you has sapped a good deal of my strength. It's going to take me at least a year to replenish it!" she murmured, her form already beginning to dissipate.

Her eyes snapped back to the angel's. "Remember your promise angel!" she said.

"Yes ma'am," he replied, eyeing her curiously as she continued to fade.

It was incredible to watch: rather than merely fading away into nothingness, her form was dematerializing in particles of color, which floated up into the sky and winked out far up in the atmosphere. Red, blue, violet, green, gold, they all flowed from her in streams of arcane energy. Suddenly, a small piece of silvery energy swept out from her body and shot into his chest. He let out a surprised hiss as the particle sunk through his flesh, leaving behind a bright silvery mark on his scales.

"I have marked you as my adopted child," she said, her voice growing fainter by the second. "Now the wards should allow you to enter untouched," she finished.

"Now go! Back to your vessel! Leave me!"

The angel gasped as the mindscape began to dissolve around him, and in a matter of seconds, the world faded to black.

* * *

><p>"-at's going on?" Hermione's voice said as the angel regained consciousness. Sitting up in the boat, his bright green eyes flew wide open as his wing snapped out and back in, throwing off the aftereffects of the constricting magic.<p>

Hermione's chocolate brown eyes swiveled to the angel, who calmly looked back at her. "Harry, are you alright?" She asked. "What happened?"

With a jolt, the boat started moving again, hurrying forward to rejoin the small flotilla that was rapidly approaching a set of docks. The angel reached up and grabbed the front of his robes, right over where the woman's mark had gone into him. A warm feeling pulsed inside his chest, and a smile spread across his face.

Turning to face the girl, he calmly shook his head, a small chuckle spilling out from his lips. "I'm alright Hermione," he said, patting the girl on the shoulder gently in a reassuring gesture.

"Everything's alright."

* * *

><p><strong><em>Two Months Previously<em>**

The Sahara Desert. 9.4 million square kilometers of unbroken wasteland. The ultimate desert.

Bleak, uncompromising, and virtually uninhabitable.

Certainly not a place for clouds.

And yet, right there, in the middle of the sky somewhere in the bleakest part of the desert, a large cyclone was brewing. The condensing air was crackling with electricity and fury as it swirled around, looking for all the world like a miniature Hurricane.

Suddenly, with a great, crackling burst of energy, the middle of the cloud sprouted a funnel, which surged towards the ground at a terrific speed, striking the Earth with the force of a small bomb. The tornado swirled around, kicking up a huge fit of dust and dirt and sending it flying into the atmosphere in a terrifying show of natural power.

A crackling groan emanated from within the column of air, and a swell formed at the top of the column. Surrounded by a halo of lightning, the swell quickly passed down the length of the cyclone before impacting with the ground. As soon as the swell touched down, a massive shockwave swept across the desert for miles, kicking up a huge sandstorm.

It's energy now spent, the storm cloud dissipated, leaving nothing but the whirling sands to tear across the desert.

After a good half hour, the dust finally settled, leaving new sand dunes in the ever changing terrain. However, where the swell had touched down there was now a massive crater, stretching sixty feet across and easily half that deep.

And at the bottom of the crater there stood a figure, brushing sand off of himself.

He snorted in displeasure as a granule of sand managed to sneak its way up his nose, a particular annoyance that he was quick to rid himself of.

Tilting his head back, he gazed up at the ridge of crater, his hood (which was pulled over his deep jet black hair in its usual fashion) sliding back to reveal his features.

His appearance was that of a human boy, somewhere between the tender age of fifteen or sixteen, but his face was one of those that seemed timeless, and his bright blue eyes held knowledge far beyond that of any human.

His bright white coat stood out from the red sand surrounding him, surprisingly free of all dirt and dust, as if it had repelled the disgusting substance.

Beneath the coat he wore a simple black shirt that did nothing to combat the heat. Dark pants clad his legs, a single white stripe running down the side of one of them, and black boots gripped the sand with well worn and durable tread.

One would think that in the harsh conditions of the desert, he would be boiling alive in such an outfit. But, in truth, it was exactly the opposite: he was completely fine. His body could handle extremes far exceeding anything the earth could produce, ranging from the core of the sun to below absolute zero.

To an outside observer, it would be reasonable to think that the boy was nothing more than a statue. He did not move a muscle, his eyes did not flicker in the slightest, and his chest didn't even move. He drew no breath.

Well, he did. It was just that it was over a much longer period of time than a human's. It took him exactly three minutes and twenty two seconds to draw in a complete breath, and another one minute and forty eight seconds to fully release his breath.

That was when he was relaxed.

Granted, breathing was entirely optional to him, but it was still necessary for talking, so he enjoyed the luxury while he could.

A stranger would also note that the boy seemed to be rather pale, with skin that was smooth and free of any blemishes. High crafted cheekbones and a well sculpted, beautiful face gave him the appearance of a young roman god, his deep blue eyes that were slightly larger than a human's only accentuating this.

Wrinkling his nose, he bent his knees slightly before launching himself into the air, catapulting upwards ten feet before his natural abilities kicked in and held him aloft. Hovering in the air, the immortal turned around and slowly ascended up into the clear desert air, his keen eyes piercing the clouds of dust, sharp enough to count the individual grains should he wish to.

When he was a good mile in the air, he paused in his ascension. Breathing in through his nostrils, his highly attuned sense of smell filtered through all the different scents that were carried on the desert wind.

Below him, the land was crawling with life. A sidewinder snake was winding its way across a dune, several scorpions were fighting amongst each other, and vultures circled around in the air, searching for anything dead to find.

He could smell, hear, and see them all.

But he didn't focus on that at all. No, his focus was on the scent of fresh flowing water and palm trees swaying in the wind, along with a breath of heavenly fresh air.

Literally.

He could smell God.

Turning exactly twenty seven degrees clockwise, he shot off at the speed of a fighter jet, accelerating from zero to hundreds of kilometers per hour in just under a millisecond. The ground blurred below him as he picked up speed, and very soon shockwaves began to form around him as he broke through the sound barrier.

And the whole time, his bright blue eyes missed nothing. They peered back and forth as the scenery whipped by, almost incomprehensible to a normal person, but to him it seemed to go by in slow motion.

Finally, he caught sight of a tuft of green from behind a sand dune about twenty miles ahead of him. Pulling his legs forward, he twisted his body to drastically reduce his speed.

In seconds, he had decelerated from his previous break neck pace to a much more casual cruise speed. Banking around the dune, his eyes widened as his vision was filled with green.

There before him was a vast oasis, stretching out for miles in the middle of the vast desert. All kinds of trees and plants were growing straight out of the dunes, and water seemed to be flowing out of the rocks.

It was a miniature paradise.

But to the immortal, it all seemed fake.

Halting his flight altogether, he descended down from his height to land gently on the soft turf of the oasis. The grass seemed to caress his feet through his boots, and the whole air seemed to dance with divine energy.

There was only one being on this Earth that could create this kind of phenomenon.

"YAHWEH!"

The boy's voice finally rang out, the first word that he had spoken since landing. At the sound of his voice (which was more beautiful than any human could ever hope to produce), the air trembled and writhed, as if rejoicing some holy event.

He held his breath in anticipation, waiting for the answering call.

The oasis remained silent.

The boy folded his arms across his chest waited for the deity to show himself. Sometimes the old man could be so inconsiderate.

"Yahweh! Come on, show yourself! I know you can hear me!" the immortal called again.

Suddenly, a bright flash of light lit up the space in front of him, and the boy recoiled in alarm. The light only lasted for a second though, before it faded into the folds of the robes worn by the scruffy man before him.

"Hey Dragon!" the man said, a bright grin on his face as he peered down at the boy.

The man was a very curious one to look at. Dressed in Old Testament style robes, he didn't cut a very imposing figure. He had short, light brown hair that was bunched up near the top, exposing his forehead and large nose. A beard and mustache engulfed the lower part of his face, while dark brown eyes stared out from under heavy eyebrows.

Still, there was no mistaking the scent pouring off the man. The divine presence was almost overwhelming, and if Dragon had been any less an immortal he probably would have been incinerated. However, the most that happened was his pupils dilated slightly, before resizing rapidly.

This was God.

"What'cha doing here?" the deity asked, reaching out to pat the boy on the shoulder. Dragon grunted, before pulling away from the hand. "Sightseeing," he said sarcastically, before turning to look at the oasis the deity had made.

"What's this?" he asked, looking at the carefully constructed garden with something akin to approval.

God chuckled and turned to face the garden as well, his bright brown eyes flicking from the oasis to Dragon's face. "Oh, it's just a project I've been working on for a while. Like it?" he asked.

Dragon did not reply, but instead walked past the deity and continued down to the trees, looking from side to side with his electric blue eyes. "Indeed," he said.

After a moment of indecision, God eventually made up his mind and took off after the immortal, eventually catching up and walking alongside the shorter male. Dragon continued to scan the oasis, admiring the way the vines ran around certain trees. "An impressive attempt at recreating the Garden of Eden," he commented, before stopping and staring at a pear tree. "But I think you need to brush up on your memory."

God look scandalized, his eyebrows shooting up into his scalp. "How so?!" he cried. He was sure that he had recreated it perfectly! How could he have gotten it wrong.

Dragon smiled at the flustered deity. "It's a simple mistake to make, but I personally would call it an improvement."

Walking over, he patted the pear tree that he had been admiring. "This tree has five too many fruits on it," he said, before plucking one and bringing it to his mouth. Sinking his teeth into the juicy flesh of the fruit, Dragon let out a moan as his taste buds were stimulated by the rich taste.

"You're lying. You can't possibly remember that!" God said, folding his arms across his chest in denial.

Dragon smirked, before striding over to the deity and thrusting the pear into his face. "One, I never forget anything," he said, before pulling the pear back and taking another bite, letting out another moan of pleasure as he was once again hit with the sweet taste.

_'I can't believe the Doctor hates these,'_ he thought. _'They're delicious! I'll have to bring him some, that'll change his mind.'_

"And two," he said after he had swallowed. "That tree over there was my particular favorite when you still had the original garden. It was way better than the forbidden fruit anyway. Honestly, I don't know how Lucifer managed to convince them to eat those stupid apples when they could have been munching on these beauties!" he said casually as he took another bite.

God rolled his eyes. "Of course. Only you would be stupid enough to remember something like that!" he said.

Dragon looked scandalized. "What? An insult? Why, Yahweh, I'm shocked! Hurt! Cut to the Quick!" he said, a cheeky little grin spreading across his face before taking another bite, the pear almost halfway finished.

The deity scoffed before turning away from the boy.

Electric blue eyes narrowed as he realized the deity was trying to ignore him. _'Hmm, seems I've put him off. How inconvenient.'_

"So, I see that you let that gray-winged brat out of Heaven's jail," he finally said after finishing off the rest of his pear, licking his fingers eagerly to get the rest of the sweet juice off his hands. "You do realize that that's going to throw a huge spanner in the whole Apocalypse thing you have planned," he said, drawing an odd look from the deity.

A half-smile flickered across God's face.

Blue eyes narrowed.

"Unless…" Dragon trailed off, moving towards the deity with his finger pointed in the air. Reaching God's side, he directed the finger into the deity's face. "That was your intention all along."

A full grin was all the answer he needed.

"Oh come on Yahweh! Metatron worked so hard to get that script down just right, and now you've gone and ruined it? Oh, that's gonna twist his feathers _real good._" Dragon said, his own grin spreading across his face.

God shrugged his shoulders, bringing his hands up, palms facing forward, as if to say 'what-can-you-do?'

"Well, you know I hate working within a script!"

**_"Pffff-hahahahahahaha!" _**

Dragon let out a peal of laughter, followed shortly after by the deity himself as they shared a moment, both envisioning the chaos that was sure to follow because of the deities actions.

"Aha, aha, ha…ha," God's laughter finally died down shortly after Dragon's, the both of them standing in mutual silence that was entirely comfortable, like old friends after sharing a good joke.

God was the first to break the silence. "Why are you really here, Dragon? You wouldn't just show up out of nowhere for no reason," he asked, his brown eyes seeking out those of the immortal.

Blue eyes met the gaze, and Dragon's entire countenance fell, his expression turning solemn while his eyes getting a little hollowed, exposing for a moment the maelstrom of rage and pain that was really going on behind that gaze.

"You're not going to like it," he said, turning away from the deity.

God's eyes narrowed. "Dragon…" he said warningly.

The boy flinched, before turning back to fully face him. His eyes were firmer, blazing with fire and his ever-present energy. "Four words: The Aleph Is Here"

God recoiled from the immortal as if he had been physically burned, his eyes wide in shock and his mouth falling open. Dragon sighed before turning to face away again, not wanting to see his friend have a meltdown.

God was quick to recompose himself, and his eyebrows drew down in worry and concern. "The Aleph?" he asked.

"Yep," Dragon replied, popping the "p".

"_The_ Aleph?"

"The one and only," Dragon said, reaching his hand out to trace the imaginary outline of the artifact.

"And it's here?" God asked incredulously.

Dragon nodded.

God frowned. "Why?" he asked, his tone almost accusatory.

Dragon pivoted about in a snap, his eyes wide and blazing with fury. "How the hell should I know? Half the artifacts from my home-world were lost during the course of the war! They were impossible to keep track of! For all I knew the Alep was destroyed during the Final Cleansing! How am I supposed to tell if it ends up in some backwater dimension like this one?" he cried.

God recoiled from the immortal's harsh words, his frown still present on his face. "I'm sorry," he finally said.

Dragon snorted. "Your apology doesn't change anything," he snarled, before spinning around and facing away, acting very much like the petulant child he appeared to be.

God sighed. Sometimes it was hard to deal with a creature such as these, especially ones like Dragon. You know, the ones that you can tell are obviously injured and are hurting, but also have enough power to blow you to Kingdom Come if you even dare look at them funny.

"If that is here, and you're here, then you know it's only a matter of time before _he _shows up," God said, stepping forward to place a tentative hand on the immortal's shoulder.

Dragon let out a heavy sigh, as if the weight of the world had settled on his shoulders. "Yeah, I know."

He turned his head to stare at the deity, his expression unreadable. "But hopefully that won't be for a while though."

God nodded. "What are you going to do until then?" he asked.

Dragon sighed again and looked up at the sky, his eyes piercing the atmosphere and locking onto a communication satellite. "I guess I'll reestablish my web here, try to locate it as quickly as possible before someone does something awful with it."

Moving out of God's grip, Dragon turned to fully face him. "Also, seeing as the Aleph is one of the few weapons in existence specifically designed to _kill _beings like you, I would suggest vacating this dimension for a while," he said.

God's eyes widened. **_"What?!"_** he cried, recoiling in shock.

Did Dragon really just ask him to do that?

"I know, I know. You don't want to leave your creations unguarded," Dragon said, holding up his hands to placate the deity before he could launch into a long-winded, half-sputtered speal. "But I really don't want to risk your life. If it were to go off, it could kill everything and everyone even remotely related to the supernatural realm, and that includes you. I don't want to see you die."

God stared at Dragon in shock. Gone was the fragile thing he had been just moments ago, replaced instead by the warrior that had been the inspiration for naming the most dangerous creatures ever to walk the Earth.

(Oh yeah, humans named dragons after him, not the other way around).

"Don't worry," Dragon said when God opened his mouth to argue. "I'll take care of your creations. The humans aren't going to die off suddenly, and I promise if anything goes wrong I'll do my best to fix it. And you've seen me at my best before, remember." Dragon said, looking coolly at the deity.

God nodded. For as long as he lived, he would never forget that night when Dragon firmly put him in his place.

The seconds passed by, in which an awkward silence grew between them as Dragon waited for the deity's answer.

"I…I guess…I could do with a vacation somewhere." God finally conceded, and the immortal smiled in victory.

"That's the spirit!" he said, patting the deity on the shoulder. "I heard the Sherlock universe is being pretty quiet right now. I'd head there if I were you," he said, a small smirk spreading across his face.

God looked puzzled for a moment. "Which one is that?" God asked.

Dragon closed his eyes for a moment, mentally recalling the exact location. "Dimensional coordinates .21.02." he said in rapid fire.

God nodded as he mentally catalogued the directions. "Thanks."

He now turned and placed both hands on the immortal's shoulders staring into his deep blue eyes with his own tired brown ones. "Now, Dragon. Please do take care of this place. I've put a lot of work into it, and I don't want to return a few years down the road and find a charred black hunk instead of a planet. Can I ask you to promise me that you'll take care of everything?" he pleaded, looking at the immortal with his best puppy dog eyes.

The immortal chuckled before placing his own hand on the deity's shoulder. "Relax Yahweh, everything will be fine. Besides," he said, before pausing and leaning closer to God. "_I've been doing this for a lot longer than you have,_" he whispered, before pulling out of the deity's hold.

"Now get out of here. Go get a sun tan, Inteirum knows you need it!" he said.

God let out a laugh, a twinkle igniting in his eyes. "Take care Dragon!" he said.

Closing his eyes, the deity began to glow a bright golden light, and the whole universe seemed to contract around his body. Then, with the sound of glass breaking, God vanished in a flash of light, leaving this universe behind.

Dragon blinked a few times to rid himself of the afterimage of the deity. Sighing, he turned to look around him, before his face fell when he realized that God had taken the garden with him. Now nothing but walls of sand met his gaze, and even the pear tree was gone.

"Oh come on! Way to be a Dick!" he shouted at the sky, knowing that it was useless but feeling better about it anyway.

Tilting his head to the side, he popped his neck, rolling his head around to loosen up in preparation for the work he was about to get down to. "All right," he said, reaching up to grasp a piece of metal that was hanging on chain around his neck. "Let's get cracking!"

And with a brief flash of light, he too vanished into thin air, leaving behind nothing but a pair of boot prints that were swiftly covered by the ever-shifting sands of the desert.

* * *

><p>*Kaitia: In old arcane terms, this word was used to describe something or someone younger than yourself, usually in a chastising manner. It was normally used to scold small children who caused mischief. Hogwarts is using it here to refer to the angel's petulant behavior towards her, as she considers herself to be older and more experienced than he.<p>

* * *

><p><strong>Phew! That was a lot of work. Again, I'm so sorry for the long update time! I'll try not to let it happen again.<strong>

**Sorry for not getting to the sorting yet, but I looked at the word count when he finally got back into his own body, and I thought to myself, "Yeah, this is going on way too long, and if I include the sorting and the meeting of Malfoy then I won't have room for the God scene." Even now this is pushing it.**

**For all those who are interested: yes, his name _is_ actually Dragon. He's going to be showing up quite often, and I think you're going to like him. Let me know what you think. **

**Also, God was Chuck Shurley. I don't know how many supporters of that theory are reading this, but in my mind he is always going to be that awkward little prophet.**

**I apologize to those who are offended that I used God's name, but again, _I_ as the narrator never actually referenced him as such. It was only in dialogue that he was ever referenced by his real name, so take it up with Dragon, not me.**

**Favorite, Follow, and Review if you liked what you read. Thanks!**

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